


A Patrol Changes Everything

by Chereche



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-07-25 07:52:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 48
Words: 232,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7524556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chereche/pseuds/Chereche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On patrol, Albus stumbles across an injured student. The effects of that night changes not only his life, but also the lives of Harry Potter and Severus Snape. However, are these changes for the better or the worse?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Slowly transferring this fic over from ff.net.

It wasn't a well known fact, indeed most considered it just another fable passed on to each successive generation of Hogwarts students. But there was some truth to it - well barely any - but some nonetheless. No it wasn't the ghost of a dead student killed on the first day of Hogwarts, which was why he always haunted the school that time. No it wasn't Peeves in his "true form", a complete antithesis to his regular self as he offered assistance to the newly arrived first years, only to return to terrorising them the next day. And no, it was not some conspiracy by the professors to extract information about the new students.

All these different theories had one Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of the most Prestigious Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry terribly amused, as he heard the legends associated with himself. He couldn't help but wonder, as he drifted down another corridor, what would happen should the students realise that the mysterious figure of their gossiping was none other than him.

It had been a habit started back in his days as Transfigurations Professor when he had stumbled across a homesick first year in the corridor leading to the Ravenclaw Tower. He had meant to offer her nothing but comfort and perhaps a not quite allowed floo call home to her parents. But instead the poor child had been most terrified of him, some older student having filled her head with nonsense about being expelled for getting caught outside out of curfew. The poor dear did not even consider that none would be mad at her for getting lost after having a good cry in the Astronomy Tower. Not that she was supposed to be there anyway, but that was a different matter entirely.

It was that night that the now headmaster had come up with an alternative appearance, putting his magical prowess to test by constructing an elaborate glamour on himself that altered his appearance so that he looked no older than sixteen at most. Staring in the mirror he had been pleased with himself. His then brown beard was gone, his hair now waving past his collar. His eyes remained the same though, their twinkling blue gaze unchangeable, but overall, he was quite certain that his resemblance to his older self was not as obvious.

The next time he had adopted the glamour was the following year and while on a patrol one night, he found that it was useful. The lost boy quite willingly confided in whom he believed was a prefect, telling him all of the bullying his dorm mates were already subjecting him to even though it was only the third day. Albus had taken careful note of it and had nipped the matter in the bud shortly after that. The rumours towards his altered form generated over the years as more than once students he had aided tried to seek him out for thanks only to realise that there was no person who matched the description they provided of him. In those days, he was seen as a friendly helper, but now it seemed that the modern generation considered him more fiend than friend. It bothered him not in the least. As long as he could continue to patrol the halls and give any melancholy student reassurance, he was fine with the rumours, no matter how outlandish.

oOoOoOoOo

Albus, disguised once again, was taking one last walk through the castle before he retired for the night. It was nearing one in the morning and he had not encountered any student, troubled or otherwise for the last hour. Most of them had paid him little heed, only one seemingly matched him with the rumours of the school but she had done little other than gape when he waved to her and in a friendly tone informed her that the headmaster was patrolling and she would probably not want to lose points in the first week. As the third year scampered off, he had little doubt that at breakfast, he would be the talk of discussion once again. Well, he thought with a grimace, at least that would take the attention away from Harry Potter.

The poor boy had been plagued since his arrival at the school less than five days before. The child was painfully shy, that much had been obvious to Albus from the moment the tiny first years followed his deputy in a procession through the Great Hall on September 1st. The boy had been all but hiding behind a redheaded boy (the last Weasley son, he idly noted) and unlike the rest did not look around with awe filled eyes but instead focussed solely on his feet, moving only once to push the bridge of rather hideous glasses further up his nose.

He was a far-cry from his parents, Albus noted, remembering the smirking James Potter and the radiant Lily Evans, both of whom seemed to draw all eyes towards them, even in their first year. Was it any wonder that when they finally overcame the animosity between them that they became not only the best Head Boy and Head Girl the school had ever had but more importantly the couple who had borne the child that had brought peace to the world, even at the cost of their own lives?

He, like all others, had been curious when the boy's name was called from the role and he hesitantly stepped forward, almost tripping over himself as he climbed the steps to the platform, the hat flopping down to cover his head almost to his nose when it rested on him. His sorting had been one of the longest to date, Albus had noted as it had taken almost five minutes for the hat to declare him Gryffindor. The roar from the red and gold house was tremendous, startling the boy immensely. But then it had to be hard for a shy child like him, having grown up in the comfort of the muggle world to be bombarded by people who had been raised speaking highly of his name.

The attention had been nerve wrecking on the boy, Albus recalled. He had cast several glances to him during the meal and noticed that the boy ate sparingly and had not even glanced at the dessert trays that circulated. Surely he would gorge himself on sweets like the rest? But no, he had sat quietly until the meal was through before following the prefect responsible for leading them to Gryffindor Tower.

The gossip surrounding the boy had started the next day when it became obvious to all that the hero they had expected was little more than a fantasy. Harry Potter was, quite frankly, a disappointment. Not only did he not remember anything surrounding his defeat of Voldemort, he was shy. What hero was shy to the point that he retreated when approached? What saviour refused to socialise, instead hiding away in a corner with his text book (even though it was only to prevent a repeat of his humiliation in Potions class)? No, a true hero would have put Snape in his place, at least that was the opinions of the students.

The staff was more generous. The gossip around the teachers lounge was that the boy was painfully polite but terribly timid. By the third day of school, the first years had already divided themselves into different groups and it was clearly obvious that the hero was not included among any. Was it because the students thought he was above them or wanted nothing to do with the disappointment of a saviour was beyond them, but if one thing was clear, Harry James Potter certainly in no way lived up to what his parents had been. His magic seemed average at best, he being one of the last to perfect whatever was being practiced in the classroom. His writing was little more than chicken scratch and he never seemed to be able to give a straight answer (the last was ignored because of its source. It was quite clear to all that Snape had transferred his hate for James Potter forward to his son).

The poor child, Albus sighed. Hopefully the novelty of his presence would wear of soon and the child would have a normal Hogwarts experience alongside his peers.

Albus was just about ready to head to bed when he heard it, a soft sound that a second later became recognisable as a whimper. Ah, he thought, just when one believed their job to be done, something else occurred.

He placed a gentle smile on his face and made himself seem as inviting as possible as he rounded the corner where the sound had originated, fully expecting to find a student curled against a wall, probably with their knees drawn up and face hidden in it as they sobbed softly. Yes, it was a scene he had stumbled unto numerous times and he already had the words he had repeated so many times over the years on his lips. But the sound died as his eyes fell on the disturbing scene before him.

The whimpering he had heard was not of a child in the midst of a bout of weeping. Instead the sound generated from a crawling child, whimpering softly but clearly as he frantically patted the ground around him, obviously searching for something. Startled, Albus froze, watching the scene. Was that blood on the child's hand? And the darkness on his face, those were not shadows, those were bruises discolouring the child's fair skin. Albus had no doubt at that moment that there were more injuries hidden beneath the torn robe the child wore.

Not being able to stand the sight any longer he strove forward. His feet made a clacking sound against the tiles and the child froze before dropping completely to the floor, curling up into a defensive ball.

"P-p-lease n-no mo-re!" the boy begged, curling himself up tighter. "P-p-l-ease!"

The headmaster's heart clenched as he realised that whoever had done this to the boy had returned no doubt to inflict further torture on the first year. Obviously the child believed that he was the perpetrator returning to add to his misery.

He strove for the calmest tone he could manage despite his anger that something like this could have occurred within his school and while he had been patrolling too. The fact that he had been strolling on the opposite side of the school and could not possibly have known, escaped him.

"I'm not going to harm you," he said in a reassuring tone. "I mean no harm. I heard you and I want to help."

The boy froze and his begging tapered off. Apparently his voice had convinced him that he was not the attacker. However the boy's next words shocked him.

"G-g-o. D-on-t let him f-find y-you helping m-me."

So he had been threatened as well? Albus thought darkly as he carefully knelt besides the boy.

"He cannot harm me," he said, letting conviction enter his tone to reassure the cringing student. "I am no ordinary student. You need help. I will not harm you, but you can't stay here. Please, uncurl yourself and let me see how badly you are hurt."

It took a minute more of coaxing before the curled boy unfurled himself, whimpering in pain as Albus gently turned him unto his back. The headmaster inhaled sharply as a stray beam of moonlight hit the bruised face, illuminating it. The child was none other than the very boy on whom he had been contemplating.

"Harry!" he gasped.

Unfortunately it was the wrong thing to do for the boy started squirming and yelping, his movements undoubtedly aggravating an injury but the pain was not enough deterrent to stop his frantic movements.

"Child I mean you no harm!" he grated out, wrapping his hands tightly around the boy's forearms, effectively stilling him. "Look at me. Do I seem capable of harming you?"

Immediately afterwards the man found himself regretting his words for the child wore no glasses from which to peruse him. However, his words seemed to strike a cord with the child and at once, all the tension seeped away from the boy's frame and pained emerald eyes rose to study him.

"P-promise?" he all but whispered after seemingly gleaning the sincerity in his eyes.

"I promise child. No harm shall befall you. Now will you let me help you?"

"Please?"

"Good boy," Albus praised.

Luckily for him, with age came greater power and he had no need to reach for his wand to cast a sleeping spell on the child. He could have done so the minute he had realised the boy was injured but that could have induced panic from him once he awaked. No, it was better to do it this way where he actively had the child's permission to offer assistance.

Carefully he cradled the damaged body to his before rising. It startled him briefly at the slight weight in his arms. He was certain that if need be he could easily toss the boy in the air. Were all the first years this tiny or was it just this one in particular? That thought was still plaguing him he walked as briskly as possible without jolting the precious burden he bore. Until he knew the extent of the boy's injuries, he would treat him as tenderly as possible.

The headmaster surprised himself when he reached the pair of gargoyle statues that stepped aside immediately on recognising his magical signature. Why had he brought the child here? Surely Poppy was a better alternative. The medi-witch was quite renowned in her field, and yet, he had brought Harry to his own personal quarters – even now the moving staircase was carrying them past the door to his office, up further to deposit him into his personal living quarters, the fireplace roaring to life as he passed, into the guest bedroom where he placed the sleeping boy on the expansive bed.

Dropping the glamour, the headmaster set to work ridding him of his robe and as carefully as possible divesting him of his shirt, hissing at the battered chest revealed to him. What had they done, walked over his small frame? Across the room, a vase shattered as the wizard's magic reacted to his anger. Taking a shuddering breath Albus forced himself to calm. Currently Harry was his priority.

Summoning a house-elf, he sent for Poppy, knowing that the lateness of the hour mattered little to one who had dedicated her life to caring for the sick and injured.

"In here Poppy," he directed when he heard the Poppy's worried called.

"Albus," she began as she entered, eyes roving his frame. "What is wrong with you? Please don't tell me you've overdone it again and..."

"Not me Poppy," he interrupted, moving aside so she could see the student whose pants he had almost off. "Him."

"By Merlin," she breathed almost dropping her medical bag as she saw his shape. "Please tell me he was on the grounds Albus. Don't tell me students did this to him."

The man's expression hardened and a grim line formed on his face. "From what I've seen so far Poppy, students are indeed at fault at this."

"What have you done to him so far," she inquired, focussing on helping the boy.

"I cast a mild sleeping spell so he wouldn't fight me when I moved him."

"Easily removable," the medi-witch muttered as she did just so.

Magical medicine could be a finicky thing and spells sometimes subverted or in some cases completely negated the magical properties of potions or healing charms. It was best to remove them before attempting to heal the boy in any way.

"You best get a quill and parchment Albus," she ordered shortly as she started a scan on him. "If this goes to the governors, we will need to account for all of his injuries."

"Accio!" the headmaster enunciated clearly and momentarily he was seated on the edge of the bed, writing out what the witch said in clipped tones. Many times he inhaled sharply as the medi-witch hypothesised on what had caused a particular injury.

"One broken rib, two fractured," she finished. "Most likely from being kicked. The marks on his torso reflect shoe prints so we have confirmation. Do you have all of that Albus?"

"Yes," he breathed out, grasping the quill tightly to contain his anger.

"If you can't control yourself I'll have to ask you to leave Albus," the nurse warned him, as she started to uncap the relevant potions. "This is going to be a painful night for him. If you can't contain yourself and help me I'll have to ask for you to send me someone else."

Albus shook his head, forcing himself to calm yet again. "I won't leave him. I'm in control Poppy. I'm sure."

The witch eyed him critically for a moment before nodding in acceptance. "Good. I want to start on his ribs. I think it best for you to restrain him. I have to realign his broken rib before I can heal it and it will not be easy at all."

"Can you not sedate him?" the headmaster inquired as he rid himself of his robe.

"No," she responded. "To risky, I need him drug free until this is over. That's why I need him held. Get behind him and wrap your arms around him just above his ribcage. Good, now hold him tight Albus. If he moves the rib might damage further or I will have to start over."

"I've got him," he said firmly, tightening his grip.

The boy was lax in his arms, but Albus knew that that would change in a few moments when the medi-witch started her treatment. And he was right. Seconds after Poppy pressed her wand over the broken rib, the boy's eyes flew open and a pained scream tore from his lips. "Don't fight it," Albus breathed into his ear, holding him firm. "We are healing you."

The boy screamed ahead, harder this time as the witch furrowed her brows and slowly moved her wand upwards, forcing the bone to move upwards and sideways to reconnect. She had to be extra careful as the bone was resting against his lung. She did not want to aggravate the scratched organ anymore than necessary.

"Breathe through it," Albus bid, his concerned voice wafting into the boy's ear. "Deep breaths. Ride it out, a little more and you'll be healed."

The boy's scream tapered off but his breathing grew erratic as the medi-witch shifted her wand to the other side, preparing to shift the other splintered edge. "Y-you li-e-ed!" he ground out before flinging his head back on a pained moan, only the headmaster's hands around him stopping him from interfering with Poppy's work.

The accusation stung the man strongly even though he was forced to admit that the pain the boy felt now was probably equal to what he had experienced at the hands of his attacker. Yet he could not help but rebuke him as Poppy removed her wand, moving down to the fracture in his shin.

"I did not lie. I do not lie. I told you I would not harm you."

"W-what do you c-call this?" he managed through clenched teeth as pain blossomed from the limb the medi-witch was now treating.

"This is necessary if you want to be healed. You don't want to remain like this do you?"

"N-no," Harry responded after a few seconds.

"Then bear with it. These are the worst of your injuries. We will feed you potions in a little bit and the pain will lessen."

A moan from the boy as Poppy fixed his ankle distracted him for a minute before panting he spoke again. "Why?"

"Why what?"

The boy frowned and Albus resisted the urge to free an arm to dab at the sweat on his brow.

"I'm a freak. N-no-one likes m-me. Not even R-Ron anymore. Why?"

It was then that Albus realised that Harry had did not recognise who he was. Despite the fact that Poppy had been using his name freely and the fact that his beard was brushing against the child's cheek, the boy had not registered that he was currently in the arms of the headmaster. He still believed that it was a student helping him, and hence he was confused.

"No one deserves this Harry," the man told him as the medi-witch moved away to retrieve her potions. "Anyone in trouble deserves to be helped. It is my job and my duty to ensure that all students are safe here. That this happened to you disturbs me greatly."

The boy gave a brief huff and Albus could not help but wonder where the shy boy he had been observing off and on during the week had disappeared too. Was it the pain that had the boy speaking so freely despite the soft tone? Giving the gossip he had been privy to, he believed this was the case.

"Here you are Mr. Potter," Madame Pomfrey said briskly, leaning over him with an open vial. "You need to swallow this...be still!"

The moment the woman loomed over him, Harry panicked and started struggling. It was one thing when she had been an anonymous person prodding his chest and leg, but now she was above him. With his limited eyesight he only saw a blurry figure approaching him, quite like earlier when the burly student had kicked him to the ground.

"Back away Poppy!" Albus ordered sharply as he struggled to contain him. He was struggling quite fiercely and was hard to manage despite his slight weight and small size. "Harry she means no harm. Harry!"

The boy froze at the sharp intonation in his name, but after a second moaned and buried his head against the man's chest. It was only then that Albus noticed that Harry had managed to wriggle around until they were facing each other. He seemed exhausted from his struggles and so the headmaster risked freeing an arm to tilt his face upwards. Although he preferred to question the boy's reaction, he knew getting the necessary potions into his system was more important, and so he knew he had to gain the boy's obedience.

"Young man," he said in a stern yet gentle voice. "Madame Pomfrey is not going to harm you. I will not allow it."

The boy gave a small whimper and tried to lower his head but Albus held firm.

"I understand you are scared, but that still does not excuse your behaviour."

As he watched, Harry nipped at the edge of his cut lip before murmuring. "Sorry."

"Very good," he praised. "Now you will atone for your action by drinking your medicine without complaint understood?"

"Yeah," Harry responded.

At another time he would have taken the boy to task for his casual tone to him, but still, he reminded himself, Harry still believed he was in the hands of a student, a prefect at best.

"You best give them to him," the medi-witch decided after a second attempt. Although he had not struggled this time, the boy had whimpered when she pressed the glass vial to his lips and had averted his head, not even the tightening of Albus' arms around him coaxing obedience from him.

Albus sighed, and accepted the vial. "You must drink this Harry," he informed him as he twisted him sideways against him.

"Smells funny."

"And probably tastes worst," Albus agreed. "But it will help you. Now come, gulp it down. I will get you something to erase the taste."

Gradually the lips Harry had pressed firmly together when Albus placed the vial against his lips slackened and he allowed himself to be fed the potion, grimacing as it went down. The process was repeated two more times before the medi-witch was satisfied.

"Good boy," Albus praised, patting his head lightly. "I am pleased."

"I couldn't give him a sleeping draught," Poppy informed him as she packed her bag. "And the potions won't start working completely for at least an hour. But he is on the mend."

By now the boy had slipped into a semi-lethargic state and the headmaster had eased himself from the bed and was in the process of laying him to rest against the pillows. As he transfigured a pair of loose pajamas for him, he spoke.

"How long will it take him to heal fully?"

"His ribs will be fine by morning," she mused. "However the bruising will take the longest to heal. I would say that with continuous potions they shall be mostly faded by Sunday."

"Will he be fit for classes on Monday?" Albus continued as he gently drew the covers up over the half-dozing boy.

"I will decide after another check up on Sunday. Physically he might, but mentally..."

"I understand," Albus sighed as he straightened. Almost against his will his hand reached up and started to stroke the boy's forehead, just under his bangs. The child gave a soft sigh and visibly relaxed.

"T-thanks," he murmured, before drifting of to sleep.

"At least he is at peace now."

"Indeed," Poppy seconded, moving to stand besides him. "Poor boy."

"He'll remain here," Albus decided. "I'll ask for the elves to bring up a few changes of clothes for him."

The medi-witch protested. "He can be moved to the Hospital Wing in the morning Albus. No need to burden yourself unnecessarily. I can handle him."

"No Poppy," the wizard said firmly. "It's clear from his reactions to you with the potion that he's attached himself to me. I can ensure that he takes his potions."

"But Albus...you will be quite busy this weekend."

The man gave a dry laugh. "I know, calling a staff meeting, launching an investigation, writing his family, contacting the board. It will be hectic but the boy deserves no less than my time. I found him and I am headmaster here. It is my duty to right the wrong that has befallen him."

Poppy gave him a searching look. "It seems that Mr. Potter isn't the only one forming an attachment Albus," she pointed out.

The man had no response for that.

Minutes later the medi-witch was gone, promising to return to check on him in the daylight. When she left the headmaster retired to his own rooms changing into night clothes. However, not ten minutes after he had settled into his own bed had he left it, drawing a night robe around him as he returned to his guest bedroom, standing over the bruised child sleeping.

He looked so small and innocent, especially when contrasted to the size of the bed. Were it not for the bruises marring him, Albus would have found the sight adorable. As is, he sighed deeply for the poor little shy boy. Only a week in Hogwarts, and this was the situation he had found himself in. There and then the headmaster determined that he would set things to right for the saviour of the wizarding world.


	2. Chapter 2

"Come now child, drink this for me."

Who was that speaking to him in such a kind tone, Harry wondered, even as he heeded the voice on the second repetition of the command and parted his lips enough to be fed a bitter liquid. Had he the strength to do so he would have at least spluttered at the terrible taste, but now he could do little more than give a soft heartfelt whine of protest.

"I know it tastes bad my boy," the voice said apologetically, "but you need to drink it. Here, once more."

The hand he now realised supported him, tightened slightly around him, urging compliance. Deciding that the person sounded sincere enough he swallowed again, grimacing slightly although he did not bother to open his eyes, feeling too tired to even attempt such a task.

A warm breath wafted across his face, not unpleasant in the least as the person bent near him for one reason or another. And as the air around them was displaced slightly, the faint scent of lemons drifted to him, a smell he would come to associate with peace and comfort.

"One more," the person said, this time a slight pleading tone in his voice as Harry groaned softly and tried to turn his head. He was tired and wanted to sleep not drink down one bitter liquid after another. "Please Harry, just this one left."

Realising that if he obeyed he might be allowed the coveted rest, Harry acquiescenced. He gave a soft hum at this potion as it was actually sweet, causing him to swallow enthusiastically.

"What a good boy," the voice praised, causing a slight flutter to stir in the boy's heart. Finally, someone in the wizarding world who had something good to say about him.

Even though he found himself drowning in waves of sleepiness, Harry managed to slur out two words, "Thank you."

The hand behind his neck lowered, gently laying his head back against the pillow carefully. Harry felt a soft blanket being drawn over him and tucked tightly around him. "You are very much welcomed," came the heartfelt response. "Now I want you to sleep and allow the potions to do their work. Good boy, you are being most agreeable today. I am pleased."

Another positive word, Harry's soul sang, and again from this person. Instantly Harry felt a draw toward that kind-hearted person who took the time to care for him so. He wanted to be around this person, this beacon of light against the rest of the school body. Who could not want to be in the company of a person who lavished such care, attention and praise on a poor freak like him?

*

Albus was a far cry from his tender self as he lambasted the teachers before him, his cutting words holding them rigid while he tore them apart for their ineptitude. Already he had recounted the extent of the boy's injuries and now he had began to list all the ways in which the situation could have been avoided.

"Last night our administration failed in so many ways, resulting in a student being grievously harmed," he said gravely. "Where was the prefect patrol? And the head boy and girl?"

Pomona Sprout, Head of Hufflepuff spoke up timidly as the silence stretched. "If the incident occurred after curfew Albus, it would not be fair to blame the prefects."

Her answer caused the headmaster's furious blue eyes to narrow dangerously.

"Cannot be blamed?" he hissed, slamming his hands on his desk and startling his familiar in the corner of the room.

"Prefects are to patrol until one hour after curfew my dear Pomona. Certainly had they been on duty as they were supposed the boy might have been helped earlier. Poppy was able to judge the 'freshness' of the injuries and can confirm that they were less than three hours old, well within the time prefects were supposed to be patrolling. However, let us move on from the prefects for now, because truly they are just students who no doubt follow the example laid out for them. And obviously they have only been privy to bad exemplars thus far!"

"That's unfair Albus," Professor Flitwick defended in his squeaky voice. "Are you in some way faulting us in this manner?"

"That is indeed what I am doing," he confirmed, letting his eyes rove around the room before continuing.

"Not one of you can provide me with a list of students out after curfew last night. No one, not even you his head of house Minerva." His deputy met his eyes unflinchingly as he focussed on her. "Until my summons you were not even aware that the boy was missing from the first year dormitory."

Clearing her throat the witch spoke defensively. "I was quite busy with the paperwork you wanted finished by today Albus. How was I to finish that and check the tower for wayward students?"

The response was immediate.

"If it is too much for you to fulfil your duties as Head of House and Deputy Headmistress I will be happy to relieve you of some," he said coolly.

The temper in the room seemed to drop several degrees at the not to subtle threat. If it had not been obvious before that Albus was deeply angered by the attack, it was clear now that he had come to threaten his long time colleague and friend.

"That is not what I implied," she replied tight-lipped. "I am fully capable of handling both roles."

"But it is what I inferred. Your personal quarters are linked to the Tower. It would not have taken you five minutes to do a bed check as per Hogwarts regulations."

"We have never followed those rules stringently," Severus interjected his voice taking on a bored drawl. "You're simply mad that your little saviour got a little ruffed up. It is unfortunate but there is no need for all of this."

The man's careless words evoked a wave of anger within the headmaster that had an object across the room exploding. The sharp sound startled all and the headmaster found himself taking several calming breathes before he could continue.

"Do not disparage this incident Severus Snape," he ordered in a deadly soft tone. "No one, NO ONE deserves what happened to Mr. Potter and all blame must be given where due for allowing this incident to happen in the first place."

"And since when have you cared?" Snape snapped, anger rising in his own voice. "You've never given a damn about little acts of bullying but all it takes is for one person to manhandle Potter a little and it is fire and brimstone. That boy is nothing but a walking fraud Albus. I know better. That little trickster is pretending to be some poor little waif to garner sympathy when indeed he is nothing but a spoilt brat like his father!"

"We have spoken of this already in the summer Severus," the headmaster grated out. "He is nothing like his father!"

"That much is obvious," Flitwick muttered loudly. "Not an ounce of James or Lily as far as I can see. One would think that..."

"One would think," Albus interjected, "that you of all people Filius would not judge a child by their parents. Or do you make a habit of telling students what they are not? Have you informed Miss Farley that her late parents must be rolling in their graves at her being sorted into Slytherin? Or you Severus, have you as yet insulted Mr. Zabini for his father's position in the war? Or you Pomona..."

"That's enough Albus," his deputy said shakily, unnerved by the realisation that the man was indeed right and that they too had been proliferating the gossip surrounding the Potter boy.

Thinking about her own interactions with her first year lions, her unfair treatment of the boy was immediately apparent. Her muttered "Nothing like James!" when the child failed to at least sharpen the edge of his matchstick during the first lesson had caused a dulling of his emerald eyes that she only now discerned. Pressing further, she found that she could not recall seeing him attempt the spell again. Indeed, his desk had been clear. Had the child given up and pocketed his wand? She was beginning to believe that that was the case.

And then, right after the class when she heard her students laughing and throwing insults at the tiny boy she had done nothing, only to take five points from Slytherin seconds later when Draco Malfoy had called Hermione Granger badger teeth. Potter had still been in the classroom she realised, and had no doubt seen the inequality in how she had treated both instances. By Merlin, she thought shakily, had she been so prejudiced towards a child for not being like his parents? How could she?

The headmaster seemed to understand the direction his deputy's thoughts had taken for he nodded slightly, happy to see that at least one of them understood what he had been trying to say. Hopefully the witch would be more cautious in her interactions with the child and encourage her students to do the same.

It was nearing eleven he thought, glancing at the time. By now, the potions on Harry should be wearing off, and he knew how disconcerting it could be to wake up in a strange room. It was best that he be there at that time he decided, and suiting thoughts to actions, went about ending the meeting.

"I had planned on placing the matter in the hands of the board, but have decided against it for now. They have been informed but will leave the investigation and subsequent punishments in my hands unless extraneous circumstances arise.

"What I ask of you now is to call together all students for individual house meetings immediately. All students should provide accounts of their whereabouts last night. Please make it be known that any student found covering up for a friend will be punished as well. If the culprit cannot be determined, I ask for all students out after curfew to be brought to me at one o clock. Additionally, Minerva I expect you to be able to owl out letters to parents requesting permission for the utilisation of a compulsion charm at a moments notice. Parents can be present if they so desire."

"Yes Albus."

"Understood."

"Very well, if there are no further questions you are dismissed."

In under a minute the room was clear, leaving the headmaster alone to his thoughts. The revelations the meeting had brought him was shocking to say the least. A potions master who bore a grudge, a teacher who put his former students on a pedestal so high their son could not hope to achieve it. Another who insinuated that the boy's current condition was deserved and yet the fourth that seemed more concerned with defending the prefects than righting the injustice done to Harry.

It was a sad day in the wizarding world, Albus decided, it was a sad day indeed.

*

Harry had awoken less than ten minutes ago to a rumbling stomach and the realisation that he had no idea where he was or whose bedroom he was resting in. Feeling along the side of the mattress and then the side table for the pair of glasses that would bring the room into sharp focus heralded nothing, leaving him still disoriented and with a faint sense of deja vu that he done similar actions in the not to distant past.

His memory was a bit fuzzy he noted as he carefully swung his feet off the bed before scowling. His feet swung an inch or so above the carpeted floor. Was the bed that high or was he so short? Seconds later when he hopped of the bed, he was forced to admit that the bed was not at fault. Why did he have to be so short, he lamented. Was it any wonder that he was teased so by his peers? He was so much shorter than everyone else, just one more way that he had failed to live up to the expectations on him.

Looking around was useless without his glasses and so after taking a moment to carefully stretch and wonder at the faint pain the movement evoked, he carefully padded across the floor, arms waving before and around him to ensure that he did not knock something over as he moved to what he assumed to be the door. As he neared it the large brown mass opened and surprised at the sudden movement he stumbled, falling to the floor with a soft yelp.

Just great, he thought darkly, falling over like some stupid kid because the door opened. Whoever it was probably now regretted coming in here and seeing a failure like him. But maybe even though he did not deserve it they would look past his ineptitude and at least help him find his glasses or even better explain where he was?

As he was about to start to rise, at the same time wondering at the dull pain that radiated though his body, he felt hands grasp him firmly under his shoulders and lift him clear of the floor jostling him slightly before he was returned to the bed. The fact that he had been carried like a little child brought a blush to his cheeks, but as the person moved away a swat of hair brushed him...hair that was not on top of the person's head.

Harry's breath hissed as he recognised whom it was who had just lifted him. Where was he and why was the headmaster of all people here?"

"How are you feeling Harry?" the man inquired.

The kind voice shocked Harry for the second time in under a minute. The voice, like a light switch, brought remembrance back to Harry as he recalled in great clarity the attack on himself by the burly student but more than that the assistance he had been given after. It was him, the headmaster, who had held him close and comforted him, had ensured that he had been taken care of and his injuries healed.

A wave of gratitude towards the man coursed through Harry's body and suddenly terribly shy for being so close to his saviour, Harry's head docked as his cheeks darkened considerably.

"Back to being shy are we?" Albus chuckled as he sat besides the now cross-legged boy. "Come now Harry," he coaxed. "You remember who I am do you not?"

"Y-yes," came the reply in an almost whisper as the boy wrangled his fingers together. "You're the headmaster, sir."

"That I am," he agreed. "But more than that?"

A look of hesitancy flashed across the boy's face as his head lifted slightly. "You-you helped me. You're the one that saved me."

"Not saved you, just helped," he corrected.

"No!" Harry protested, looking up at him suddenly. "You saved me...I was hurting so bad...thank you," he finished sincerely, an earnest light in his eyes.

"There is no need to thank me," Albus whispered, as he perused the blushing face, noting with relief the way the bruises on his face were barely evident anymore. He was curious to see the condition of the more severe bruises though. "I need to check on your injuries Harry. Can you remove your shirt for me?"

The preteen gave an embarrassed squeak but did not protest when the man reached over to undo the buttons when his fingers faltered. He squirmed slightly when Albus' fingers irritated the most sensitive of his injuries but otherwise remained pliant.

"How bad is it?" Harry asked quietly as the man redid the buttons.

"It is healing nicely. Poppy will be pleased."

"Poppy?" Harry repeated in confusion. "Isn't that from China?"

The unexpected question startled the headmaster into a bout of laughter. "Poppy the person, not the plant," he explained. "Although it is Madame Pomfrey or Matron to you."

"Yes headmaster," Harry agreed quickly.

"So quick to obey," Albus mused a few minutes later.

He had ordered a light meal for the child and despite the fact that Harry obviously would have preferred something other than the plain chicken broth he had been given, he ate without complaint after a directive.

"Are you always so pleasing and shy child?"

Harry slurped a mouthful of soup, a bit sliding out of the corner of his mouth while he thought about it.

"Kinda," he answered between spoonfuls.

"Swallow first then talk," Albus chided lightly even as he dabbed at the stray soup. "Good, now explain please."

Harry rested the spoon back on the tray as he talked. "I'm always kinda shy, but it's worse here. There's all those people watching me..."

"Ah," the headmaster nodded in comprehension. "All the attention on you is overwhelming is it not?"

"I...don't know what that means," he admitted with a small flush.

"No need to be embarrassed," Albus chuckled. "It means that it was too much for you to bear."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "It is...I don't know what people want from me," he finished, sadly, reaching once again for his spoon.

"I'm sorry that you are uncomfortable here Harry."

"S'okay," he shrugged. "It's not so bad when no ones around. It's mighty pretty."

The odd statement earned him a quirked eyebrow. "And just when have you seen Hogwarts empty young man?"

Realising his slip, Harry dropped his head lightly as he nipped on his lip. "Erm...did you find my glasses?" he asked, trying to change the topic.

"They were broken beyond repair. I've already ordered you a self-adjusting pair. The perpetrator will bear the cost. Now, Slytherin you are not my boy, so kindly answer my question."

"Um..." Harry hedged for a moment, before sighing in resignation. "I walk around at night. No one notices me gone anyway so it's easy to get out. Please don't be mad."

The headmaster felt a wave of annoyance rush through him although not directed at the child. Really had Minerva patrolled the Tower at all during the past week? "Is that what you were doing last night?"

"Yeah," the boy sighed. "But I wasn't out past curfew...I was in the library...there's this really really cool book with fairytales and I was reading it. Then I was going back to the common room when it happened."

"I see. Finish your soup child."

"Yes sir...but am I in trouble?" he asked in a small voice.

"For wandering?"

"Yeah."

Albus looked at him thoughtfully for a moment before shaking his head. "No Harry, but should I find or hear of you wandering around again..." he let his voice trail off.

"I promise sir!" he said ferverently before pausing. "Um...when does curfew end?"

A smile played at the man's lips at the ingenuity of the child. "It ends at half five Mr. Potter."

"Then I can walk around?" he asked hopefully.

"If you can drag yourself from the warmth of your bed so early in the day you are free to do so."

"Okay."

Fifteen minutes later Harry endured another round of potions, and laid drowsily against his pillow, conversing lightly with the headmaster.

"Sir?"

"Yes my boy?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"You already have but you may ask another."

"Umm...sure," he responded, not entirely grasping the humour in the man's sentence. "Why does everyone hate me?" he asked seriously.

The question unnerved the man for several moments before he was able to fashion an answer. "Everyone does not hate you Harry."

"Yes they do!" Harry protested vehemently, struggling to push himself up against the soft pillows. "I hear them everyday! I'm not good enough, I can barely do magic. I'm a failure and they hate me for it and I don't even why!" he finished on a half-sob.

His outburst was a sharp contrast to his earlier sharp tone, clearly reflecting how deeply upset he was about the entire situation. The pain in his voice was heartbreaking to hear, no one, especially not an eleven year old should be plagued with any issue that would hurt him so much. Moved to comfort him, Albus pulled the boy into a tight embrace, and after struggling for a few seconds, the boy melted into the hug.

"Harry, the fault is not your own."

"It is!" came the muffled response.

"No it is not," Albus said sharply. "Just because you are not what the world wants you to be does not make you a failure Harry Potter."

"But that is what they want!"

"It does not mean you have to do it." Gently Albus pushed the boy away from him, instead moving to cup his face between wrinkled hands. "You just do what you want to do," he urged. "No one can dictate who you are supposed to be and they are ridiculous for condemning you for not being what they want."

The sincere response brought tears to Harry's eyes. "Really? Cuz I'm no hero. I don't even know what I did."

"What you did Harry was to rid the world of a great evil. But Harry, great mystery shrouds that night as no one knows exactly how you did it. And it is because of that mystery that the illusions the wizarding world have of you formed as they tried to explain your great feat.

"Child, I am deeply sorry that this burden is yours to bear but you are in no way obligated to heed their demands. Be yourself, that is enough. In time, hopefully they will see how great a person you are, not for what you did as a babe, but who you truly are. When that day comes the world will realise that there is no boy-who-lived, but just Harry Potter."

"T-thank you," Harry whispered sincerely, twin tears trailing slowly down his face. "Thank you so much sir."

Greatly relieved that the boy's tone was considerably lighter, Albus moved to wipe away the tears.

"Now what have I told you about thanking me hmm?" the man inquired, with the twinkle once again present in his gaze.

*

"...as such Mr. Dawlin has been expelled from the school with immediate effect," Albus stated, glancing around the silent Hall, taking in the shocked expressions students bore.

"May I remind you," he continued after several moments, "that no one, NO ONE, can be held accountable for the actions of others. Mr. Dawlin's attack on Mr. Potter stemmed from him blaming his father's incarceration on the boy. I leave it for you all to decide whether his rationing was in any way sound.

"Currently Mr. Potter is still recovering from his ordeal. He will back with us tomorrow for classes but I insist that he in no way be questioned about the incident. Mr. Potter will volunteer information if and when he is ready. Thank you," he said, lightening his tone slightly and allowing a hint of his normal twinkling gaze to shine through. "Now I've keep you from your meals long enough. Enjoy."

With that, the headmaster stepped back, but instead of seating himself as customary, he left the hall altogether. Immediately after the door closed behind him, the hall broke out into hushed whispers.

"He got expelled!" a Hufflepuff girl gasped. "Dumbledore NEVER expels anyone."

"It's just cuz it's Potter," another girl muttered darkly.

"That's ridiculous," forth year Cedric Diggory declared, having overheard the comment. "There hasn't been any expelling because there hasn't been a reason to expel anyone."

"Exactly," his friend agreed. "I mean if it was me, I wouldn't want to be in the same school with someone who broke my rib."

"Then maybe he should leave," the first girl said haughtily. "From what I hear he's little more than a squib anyway. Some saviour he is."

At the Ravenclaw table, a fifth year picked up on the remark and, true to his scholarly house, exposed a theory. "What if..." he began, his thoughtful tone attracting the attention of those around.

"What if Potter diminished his magical reserve by defeating You-Know-Who? I mean everyone knows how strong his parents were, there has to be a reason why he's so weak."

"That does make sense," his dorm mate allowed. "But reserves refill. He's had what, nine odd years?"

"Just shows how much power he must have asserted," the Ravenclaw nodded firmly. "You-Know-Who was really strong, so Potter had to have been incredible to beat him. So then, it isn't his fault he's so weak! He drained his reserves in the battle!" he finished triumphantly.

"Wow, so then he really is a hero?" a third year witch interjected.

"Yup. He gave up his magic to save us all. And look how shoddy he's been treated in return. You should be ashamed of yourselves."

"As if you weren't as well," someone snorted.

By the next morning, the rumour mill abounded with the words that Harry Potter had sacrificed his magic for the good of the wizarding world leaving him with powers slightly above those of a squib.

When the child returned to regular classes on the Tuesday, he found himself bombarded with questions more than ever and that the whisperings had increased dramatically. However, even though they were no longer negative, the fact for Harry remained the same. Once again they believed he was something he was not except now instead of disdaining him, they pitied him.

The last straw came during a last period Charms class when the girl besides him, Hermione Granger, cast her spell on his pincushion before loudly drawing the attention of the class and professor to it, claiming that Harry had done it. Perhaps the girl's intention had been well, her simply wanting for once for the boy to gain points for successfully completing a spell on time. Or else maybe she wanted to claim credit for herself for having helped him. However Harry never found out, as, all the eyes focussed on him pushed him far out of his comfort zone causing him to panic. Before anyone could think of stopping him, he ran out of the classroom, ignoring all calls for him to come back.

Minutes later as he sat near the edge of the lake, knees pulled to his chest and arms wrapped around them, the headmaster's words weeks before came back to him.

"Just be Harry."

"That isn't helping sir," he muttered bitterly the wind carrying his words through the air. In the middle of the lake the Giant Squid was playing with a broken branch and for the next few hours, Harry stayed there, uncaring of the frigid air while he watched the animal cavort about. "At least someone is happy."

*

In his office, Albus Dumbledore's expression was grave as he watched over the small child. Something had to give, he thought sadly, the boy could not continue on like this.

And somehow Albus knew that it was up to him to help the boy centre himself in the wizarding world, and soon lest the boy decide he was better off in the muggle world.

"How can I help you Harry?" he whispered before turning away from the window with a regretful sigh.


	3. Chapter 3

By November, Albus usually would have been long cured of his urge to glamour himself and walk about the castle, however on this night he found himself unable to concentrate on the documents before him. Age had taught the man to heed the little signs life afforded, and when, he found him self re-reading the same line for the third time, he shook his head before pushing it all away. Ten minutes later, he was out of his office, wondering in which direction to head off.

"You're out late Headmaster," one of the school's numerous portraits commented.

"Just stretching my legs Phillip," he replied easily. "And please, no titles."

"I forgot," he chuckled, following him through other portraits, pointedly ignoring their complaints. "But no one is around."

"I'm glad to hear that," Albus said, with a smile.

"Don't jump for joy yet," another portrait further along said dryly. "There's a young one in the Owlery. Will catch his himself a cold, the way he is in just his sleeping clothes."

Albus felt the urge to sigh. Just when he thought that the night would be nothing more than a little stroll, something had to come up. Rubbing the back of his neck, the wizard changed directions, his stride purposeful as he headed for the West Tower where the Owlery was housed. He had just started back fully trusting his head of houses with their duty and then something like this occurred. Apparently, Albus would have to fall back on an earlier plan and start locking the house portraits once curfew had passed.

Finally the headmaster was at the base of the Tower, and gripping the railing carefully, he started to ascend it, stopping more than once to mark magically portions of it that were starting to decay and were in need of urgent repair (Merlin forbid a student fall through one and break a leg). When he finally reached the top, he crinkled his nose in distaste.

He would also have to remind Filch to clean out the Owlery more often. The stench of animal waste, while not overbearing, was enough to warrant the headmaster to cast a series of wandless freshening charms, while simultaneously wondering how a student could seek comfort here of all places. Was not the Astronomy Tower the usual choice of destination or had it changed in recent times?

Pushing aside housekeeping matters for now, the disguised headmaster focussed on his main reason for venturing into this frigid area of the castle in the first place. A recalcitrant student in need of a scolding from an ever-vigilant 'prefect' before being sent on their way with a possible deduction of points depending on the level of shown remorse. As such, when the headmaster's eyes finally settled on a shadowed bundle on the loft, leaning against the wide window, the man set his lips into a determined line before climbing up the ladder.

He had not been particularly quiet in his movements and yet the person was unaware of his presence. As Albus approached, the moon escaped from the behind the cloud hiding it, illuminating the room in its soft glow. The wizard's breath hitched as the light cascaded across the student, revealing none other than Harry Potter himself.

Immediately, the man's demeanour softened as he took in the faint lines running along the visible cheek. Tear tracks, he noted as he finally made his presence known.

"You should not be here."

Lost completely in his thoughts, the child jumped in surprise, turning wide eyes to him. The emerald orbs that peered at him behind an elegant pair of glasses were filled with a mixture of fright and sadness, before the boy's innate nature took over and he ducked his head, scrubbing viciously at his cheeks.

"S-sorry," he stammered, rising hurriedly.

Albus moved to his side quickly and pressed him back down before seating himself gingerly on the straw covered wood, while sending a silent plea to whoever was overlooking them that he would be able to rise from the position easily when the time came.

"Since curfew has long passed, I doubt a few minutes will make a further difference," he stated wryly.

The boy risked a glance up at him before quickly averting his gaze, that telltale blush staining his cheeks once again. "Sorry sir," he murmured shakily.

The honorific had the headmaster blinking in surprise. How had the child seen through his glamour? He gave himself a quick once-over noting that indeed his glamour was intact.

Seemingly reading his mind, the child's tongue darted out to lick a slightly swollen lip (no doubt he had spent considerable time gnawing at it) before he responded with a soft, "Your eyes twinkle. No one elses does that."

The fact that the child noticed such a small detail had him shaking his head with a rueful laugh. The one aspect of his person that the glamour could not mask and this child of all people would be the one to see through his carefully crafted disguise. Snapping his fingers, he dropped the glamour as it was pointless to upkeep it at this point.

"My mother says that I was born in the middle of a shower of shooting stars and that they embedded their glow in my eyes."

His admission intrigued the eleven-year-old because he cautiously peeped up at him before nodding slightly. "They did," he confirmed.

"I'm glad you agree," he smiled, before sobering. "Now, will you tell me why you are up here young man, and in doing so disregarding the school rules but more particularly disobeying me?"

The boy blushed bright at the reminder of their last encounter and if possible, his head ducked even further. "Sorry sir."

"I am sure you are...now that you have been caught. Now answer my question Mr. Potter," he urged.

He gave the boy a few seconds while he squirmed and fidgeted, before huffing lightly and raising the small head with his finger under the boy's chin. Staring intently into his eyes, Albus noted that they were red rimmed. Just how long had he been crying for to achieve such an effect? He looked woebegone, and already the headmaster found his urge to scold him dissipate, leading him to handle the boy more gently as he pulled him closer and cupped a cheek.

"Surely you can tell me?" he coaxed, stroking his thumb across the smooth pale skin. "Come child, you know by now that no harm will come to you while I am with you. Now, where is that obedient child of mine hmm? The one so quick to heed me?"

Something in his words had struck a cord with the child for Albus felt a visible relaxation in the boy's body before he looked at him with a little more surety in his eyes. Certainly, the poor child was not so starved for affection here that he would grasp so quickly at the slightest bit thrown his way.

Harry's lips parted, and after clearing his throat, he murmured. "Today is Dean's birthday."

Dean, Albus thought quickly, running the list of first year students through his mind. "And what," he inquired, "does Mr. Thomas' birthday have to do with your condition?"

Harry's eyes drifted away from the man's piercing gaze. It was as if the man could see straight into his soul when he stared at him like that.

"The guys threw a party for him in the dormitory."

"And?" Albus prodded, as the story emerged in bits and pieces from the boy.

Harry sighed, before deciding to stop delaying the inevitable. "They said that I wasn't their friend so I shouldn't be there. I was just going to be a little spoilsport and they wanted to have fun without worrying about stupid old me. So I left," he shrugged.

"I went to the common room but then the upper years started kicking everyone out cuz they wanted to do something. I tried to get back in the dorm but they wouldn't let me in and the upper years were still yelling so I just left. Nobody comes here so I knew I wouldn't be in anyone's way."

Albus felt a deep sadness fill him at the boy's words. No doubt the little boy had sobbed his sorrows out up here in this frigid smelly Tower just because of the selfishness of others.

"Harry," Albus sighed, the solitary word laced with all of his opinions on the matter.

Disliking the weariness in the man's tone, Harry moved swiftly to reassure him, not wanting to burden the adult with his stupid little issues. That the man had let him talk at all was a privilege. He should not abuse it any further. "Its okay sir. Freaks don't need parties, nor are they wanted. I'm fine here, honest."

There was the F-word again, the headmaster noted. How could the boy value himself as being little more than an abnormality?

"Harry," he said firmly. "No matter what Mr. Dawlin told you, you are not a freak. I do not want you referring to yourself as such. Neither do you deserve to be treated badly."

The child opened his mouth to correct the man's misconception, but quickly shut it. Let the man think what he will. Uncle Vernon had warned him and he was not about to bring the man's wrath down about him because the headmaster got curious about him.

"In any case," Albus continued, not noticing the various expressions flitting over the child's face, "you should have sought out your head of house. No one is to be denied access to either his or her dormitory or their house common room. It is there for the benefit of all."

"I didn't want to cause trouble sir," Harry countered. "Hardly anybody likes me. I don't wanna make it worse."

"Does anyone talk to you child?" Albus asked softly, his fingers once again dancing soothingly along the boy's skin, offering comfort.

"There's one girl," Harry murmured hesitantly, as if speaking loudly would somehow jinx what he was saying. "She talks to me in class sometimes. But she doesn't want to lose her friends, so she ignores me once class is over."

"And whom might this Miss be?"

"Hermione Granger sir. She's wicked smart."

"I'm sure," Albus agreed. "And you? How are your marks?"

The boy attempted to lower his head, but the firm grip Albus held on him deterred the action. "I haven't failed anything," he hedged.

"But neither have you passed by much," Albus inferred, stroking a little more firmly.

"Yeah, all Acceptables. My writing is okay, but my practical work sucks."

Albus found himself reassuring the boy. "Maybe you just need some more time Harry. Some people take longer to tap into their powers."

"It was fine before," Harry thought grimly, remembering all the bouts of magic he had done that had brought his family's ire down upon him.

Albus noticed the slight darkening of the boy's eyes but dismissed it for now. The moon's position had shifted he noticed, it was quite time to end the conversation for now.

Putting action to thoughts, Albus rose to his feet, stretching to relieve the tensions in his joints before he gestured to Harry to do the same.

"Sir?"

Reaching out, Albus took the child's hand in his own, and gently pulled him. "It is late Mr. Potter and you need your rest even though it's a Friday night. It won't do for you to be crabby tomorrow."

The boy did not react to the man's light joke, instead saying. "But sir, I have nowhere to go."

The wizard's grip tightened minutely on the boy's hands and carefully the man looked ahead as they walked down the Owlery steps. "You will always have a place to go Harry," he declared resolutely. "For tonight you shall reclaim my guest bedroom and in the morning this whole matter will be sorted out."

Harry felt a small jolt of panic race through him. "But sir, I told you..."

"Harry," Albus interrupted. "It is my duty to protect all those whole dwell in this castle. I will not have you suffering needlessly. Do not argue with me on this young man."

Although he did not agree, the eleven year old found it prudent to obey. "Yes sir."

"Good boy."

Shortly, Harry found himself thrust gently into Albus' guest bath to clean himself up while the man turned down the bed. Albus felt the boy's presence near him a few minutes later and as he took in the child's appearance, he found himself smiling at the freshly scrubbed look the boy sported. Children were such a delight he thought as he watched him scramble unto the bed, before trying to reach for the covers.

Eyes twinkling, Albus withheld them from him, earning him a curious look from the child. "Indulge me Harry," the headmaster requested, before gently guiding the preteen so that he was lying comfortably, cradled against the soft mattress.

"Sir?"

"Hush child."

Reaching down, the man removed the glasses from the boy's face, smiling when the boy started blinking owlishly. Carefully he settled the covers over the child, tucking them firmly around him. He heard the surprised sound the boy made as he realised he was being tucked in. The light flush that stained the boy's cheeks brought another laugh from Albus. The child certainly was entertaining.

"Now Harry," he spoke softly, carding his hand through the boy's wayward bangs. "I expect you to stay in bed alright? No wandering around unless it is to the bathroom."

"Yes sir," he murmured, stifling a yawn. "But-"

"But what?"

"I was out late..." he managed before he was overcome by a yawn.

Albus blinked as he stared at the child. Had he no sense of preservation? The wizard did not intend to pursue the matter further, especially when he had understood the circumstances that had led the boy to being in the Owlery.

However, he had laid down a mandate to the boy on the previous occasion and he was well versed enough to know that sending mixed signals to a child often led to confusion on their part. He had to be consistent with Harry, much to his displeasure. A soundless sigh escaped him as he noted the sleepy look Harry was giving him. Apparently, he was determined to wait for an answer.

Finally deciding on a way to keep his word to the child while simultaneously avoiding being riddled with guilt for an unjust chastisement, he spoke to the sleepy child.

"I believe that there is a corner in my office that you will be gracing with your presence in the morning Mr. Potter." For all of two minutes, he silently added.

A brief look of confusion crossed the boy's features before he nodded slightly. "Okay sir."

"Good," Albus said shortly, "Now answer my previous question please."

"I won't walk about sir, promise."

"That's a good boy," Albus praised. "Now close your eyes, you're very tired. There's a sweet boy."

Albus remained with the child until he was positive that he was in a deep sleep. Only then did he rise, extinguishing all but one light in case the boy awoke frightened. Taking one last look at the sleeping bundle, Albus left the room, leaving the door slightly ajar, just in case.

Two days later, the headmaster stared out of his window with a small smile as he held the piece of parchment he had found stuck to one of his gargoyles. It was two simple words, painstakingly written but it was enough to reinforce the notion in his mind that he needed to take a more active role in Harry's life. The question was how? A few months later, he would get his answer, but for now, he would content himself with perusing the bit of paper he held that read:

Thank you.

*

Fawkes had been missing for quite some time, Albus noted, as he looked once again to his phoenix's empty perch. He wondered where the little rascal had disappeared to this time. He was not afraid for the bird's safety, but rather just curious as to his whereabouts. His familiar had taken to vanishing at odd moments for the past few months and did little except ruffle his feathers irritably when Albus questioned him in a clear message to mind his own business.

But still, he had been gone a little over five hours this time, his longest absence to date and the headmaster could not help but start to worry for his long time friend. Just as he was about to embark on a search for the bird, his fireplace roared to life, signalling an incoming fire-call. His appointments for the day were complete, of that he was certain and as such he had every intention of ignoring the call, letting it forward instead to Minerva's office.

However, the woman would not be there, Albus remembered irritably. It was her turn to supervise detentions and it really would be rude for the call to go unanswered (no matter the fact that it was unscheduled). Therefore, with a gruff sound of annoyance, Albus went about connecting the call. The person he found regarding him anxiously was surprising to say the least.

"Arabella?" he blurted out in confusion. "Whatever is the matter?"

Indeed the squib's appearance was puzzling. While he had entrusted her to overlook Harry in his stead during his formative years, the child was safely in the castle, leaving there no need for the woman to be contacting him.

"It's the Dursleys," she said swiftly. "I thought you'd like to know as soon as possible."

"Harry's relatives?"

"Yes Albus. There's been an accident."

*

Harry was scribbling as quickly as possible, not wanting to miss any of the vital information Professor Flitwick was sharing. Hermione was the only other person actively taking notes, for Charms was the one subject they had that truly, the textbook was enough to provide all the necessary information for the class.

However Harry took careful notes anyway, knowing that every bit of information was important if he was to maintain a decent grade in the class. Already it was only his theoretical work that saved him from failing his classes. All of his teachers (save Snape who hated him for some unknown reason) had noted on his essays at some point that they were very logical and comprehensive (the latter word he had had to find in the dictionary to understand what it meant).

If only his practicals were better Harry knew he could easily get EE or even possible Os in his classes. Secretly he was working on meeting that goal, if only to seek out the headmaster and show him. Not that the great wizard would be especially concerned with the grades of one student only, far less a freak like him, but then, Harry reckoned, the man was kind to him, sending him small smiles or winks in the Great Hall and even talking to him whenever their paths crossed in the corridors.

Harry's favourite moments were when the man ruffled his head, or flicked teasingly at his nose when there weren't other students around. Yes, what Harry wanted more than ever was to earn a "very good" from the man for good grades and for that, he had taken to locking himself in an empty classroom and trying to force his magic to obey him.

Why was it so easy for him to perform magic without his wand and yet, so difficult for him to do it with it like everyone else? Not that there was anyone he could talk to it about, not even the headmaster. Would the man think him weird for needing a wand? Would he tell him that he was not a real wizard because he could not use such a common wizarding tool? The thought of being rejected by the man was what held his tongue and urged him forward each day as he wrestled with his wand, trying continuously to get it to heed his needs.

He had little success thus far and consequently settled himself with trying to perfect his theory work and as such, he ignored every possible distraction in the class, holding on to his professor's every word.

Classes were never interrupted, or at least had never been in Harry's time in Hogwarts thus far. As such, he, like everyone else was surprised when a knock came from outside the classroom, upon which the head boy entered, handing the charms professor a note before dismissing himself.

The tiny man read it quickly, frowned lightly before looking up and around, seemingly searching for someone. Harry felt his stomach drop slightly when the man's greyish eyes settled on his tiny frame huddled in the back of the classroom.

"Mr. Potter, the headmaster wants you in his office," he said in his squeaky voice. "Go ahead now."

"Y-yes sir," Harry stammered, unnerved by all the students who turned to stare at him curiously. Hurriedly he stuffed all his belongings into his bag before hurrying out and away from the staring eyes.

As he headed towards the office, the boy wondered what the man could have wanted him for. He had never purposefully sent for him and seeing that it was the middle of classes, Harry doubted that it was a social call. Sooner than he expected, he reached the entrance, the gargoyle stepping aside almost before he could say anything. He must have been observing the entrance, Harry mused as the stairs moved upwards, gently depositing him outside of the man's office.

Harry was better acquainted with the man's personal quarters, his only experience thus far with the headmaster's office being that time all those weeks ago when he had sat quietly in a corner of it while the man walked around. It had only been the one time, but Harry had already subconsciously associated this room with negativity (although the headmaster had held him to him for several moments afterwards and ordered him a hearty breakfast that he barely managed a third of.)

And so, when he pushed open the heavy door and saw the headmaster seated there, the twinkle in his eyes severely muted, he felt a tremor of fear race through his body, so much so that he considered retreating at once, to return when the man was hopefully in a better mood.

"Have a seat Harry," the headmaster invited.

Harry's breath hitched at the sombre tone the headmaster spoke with and his heart raced as he debated between remaining near the sturdy door that offered him some protection and taking the seat the man offered. What had he done to put the man in such a mood, he wondered as he shot his headmaster a plaintive look, automatically seeking from the man, that almost grandfatherly expression that melted his heart.

The man's expression remained constant however and the boy found himself fighting a whimper as his desire to obey the man overcame his wish to flee the room. Cautiously Harry released the door and crossed the room, sitting stiffly in the indicated chair. His gaze was kept firmly downwards as he clenched his hands into tight fists to stop their tremor.

He barely concealed a flinch when the headmaster cleared his throat and risked a tiny peep through his bangs that now stopped mere centimetres above his glasses, gauging the man. His long, pale fingers were laced under his chin and the great wizard seemed to be struggling for the best way to start. Maybe, Harry thought, if he apologised in advance, the man would not be too hard on him? Unlike his uncle, the headmaster seemed to consider his words first.

"M'Sorry," he murmured, his shaky tone loud in the otherwise silently room.

He could have hit himself when the headmaster startled. Now he had done it, gone and upset the one person who was so kind to him the most. Now it would come, the stinging rebuke and punishment. Harry could only hope that the man would be lenient enough to explain to him just what he had done wrong.

"You have done nothing wrong Harry," the headmaster said instead.

The unexpected words had Harry's head lifting sharply to observe the man in incredulity. He hadn't done anything? That meant that he wouldn't be punished right? Because, no crime meant no justice to be enacted. That's how these things went right? At least he thought that is how this man in particular operated.

"Sir?" he asked tentatively, seeking reassurance from the man that indeed he would escape unscathed from the room.

The headmaster rocked back in his chair, meeting his gaze. "In my many years Harry, I have had to do this numerous times although I must admit that never has it been so painful to do."

Harry eyed him carefully. "If it hurts, don't do it." Especially if it makes you mad at me, he thought.

His response drew a dry laugh from the man. "The innocence of the young," he murmured, almost as if in reflection. "Sometimes my boy, you must do something despite everything. This is one such occasion."

"Oh..."

"Child," the headmaster said, rocking his chair slightly. "I received news about your relatives last night..."

The Dursleys?

Harry felt all his previous fear return tenfold. What had the headmaster heard about them...about him? Was that the cause of his strange behaviour now? Had the Dursleys told him just how much of a failure he was, that he was not worth the time of day or the food wasted upon him. Had that been the reason the headmaster summoned him, to break all ties within him before he sullied himself with his presence.

Harry felt tears threatening at those thoughts, afraid that he was about to loose the one man he had come to admire tremendously. Maybe if he begged, proved he could do better, that the man would give him another chance and not abandon him?

"Sir..." Harry began, only to be cut off by the headmaster.

"Please Harry, this is already difficult for me to say child. Allow me to finish."

"I-yes sir," the eleven year old said, resignedly, knowing that his heart was about to break.

"Harry, your Aunt and Uncle were in a collision yesterday morning. Your Uncle died of massive internal bleeding late last night and your aunt succumbed to her injuries early this morning."

Whatever Harry had expected the man to say, it certainly had not been that and so he stared at the man with wide eyes. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were dead? Like his mom and dad, killed because of a car crash? Dudley was just like him now...an orphan?

No he wasn't, Harry thought, correcting himself. He had Aunt Marge. The woman already came by every few weeks to see her precious nephew while knocking Harry about every time he came near. But...did that mean that he would have to go to her too as he had to go to the Dursleys when his father had been too drunk to judge the distance of the curb and had lost control of the vehicle?

Would he have to go live in that perfect little house, where there was no Aunt Petunia to stop the woman from bruising his face too badly because the neighbours might notice and she was not answering any questions about a stupid freak who deserved it anyway?

He wouldn't survive the week, Harry thought in despair as tears started leaking from his eyes. She had always told her brother that he should have been drowned the minute they had gotten him. Surely she would finish the task herself he knew and the thought scared him terribly.

He didn't want to go to her, he would rather live a thousand years with a dozen Uncle Vernons and Aunt Petunias, just please don't send him to Aunt Marge! Harry never realised he was sobbing until he was pulled tightly into lemon scented robes, his glasses disappearing of his face before he felt the headmaster rubbing his back comfortingly. If the act meant to soothe him, it did the opposite as the boy realised that soon this would be lost to him. For surely he would be pulled from the school. The thought only had him sobbing harder.

*

When the tears started trickling down the child's face, Albus had nodded to himself, knowing that it was just the child grieving for the loss of his family. Slowly Albus walked around the desk, standing near ready to offer comfort to the boy, reminding him that it was not the end of the world and that death was but the next great adventure. However all of those reassuring words flew out of the man's mind as the child starting whispering to himself, before collapsing into sobs.

But it could not be Albus thought as he neared the child. The boy was not crying out his relatives names as he had thought, instead the boy was pleading, pleading not to be sent to someone named Marge who would kill him. As the sobs continued, intermixed with pleads, Albus felt his blood grow cold at what the child was inadvertedly revealing.

As Albus pulled the child into his embrace, and held him steady as he ran through his course of weeping, the headmaster of Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, could not help but wonder what environment he had sent the wizarding world's saviour to grow up in.


	4. Chapter 4

The past few hours had certainly been among the most trying Albus could recollect going through in recent times. And yet it seemed that it was far from over. After copious hours of soul searching, he had decided upon the fate of one Harry Potter. The problem was that, given the circumstances, he was doubtful that the little boy would agree to allow him the chance to compensate him for the injustices heaped upon him in his young life.

Despite not having pressed Harry on the issue, it was painfully obvious that all had not been right in the Dursley household given the child's reaction to their deaths. He could think of no other reason to explain why the boy showed no outward signs of mourning for his relatives. Indeed, for a moment after his grave announcement, the child heaved a breath of relief before breaking down in panic as to his living conditions. What had been done to the lad to draw such a reaction at the thought of living with another relative, causing him to whimper pitifully, murmuring in concern for his safety so much that the words chilled the headmaster to the core?

A good twenty minutes passed before Albus managed to calm the boy sufficiently for further conversation and even then, pure fear radiated from those large emerald eyes as he hugged his knees to his chest in a clearly vulnerable pose, still muttering intermittedly about his fear of his Uncle's sister. At the end of his wits, and unwilling to go through the trouble of requesting a calming potion from the infirmary, the headmaster resorted to casting a cheering charm on the boy, finally relaxing him enough so that he could listen to his words.

Albus then proceeded to do his best to reassure the eleven year old that a suitable home would be found for him, but the boy's only reaction had been to curl in on himself further, murmuring once again. The open vulnerability Harry was showing tugged at the old wizard's heartstrings and abandoning completely his role as headmaster, he moved once again to the boy's side and opened his arms wide in invitation.

Harry's emerald eyes stared pensively at him for a moment before he gave what amounted to a half-sob before he settled into the comfortable embrace, letting the scent of lemon waft around him as he finally listened to the headmaster, nodding in acceptance when the man promised that no matter where he was sent, he would be safe.

They sat in silence for almost an hour after that until a soft yawn escaped the small boy. With a hand on his back guiding him, Albus shuffled Harry easily through to the guest bedroom where he applied a wet cloth to his face before tucking him in for a good long rest, knowing that all the emotions he had gone through recently would leave him physically drained.

True enough, Harry was asleep within minutes although he slept curled into a tight defensive ball, making it plainly obvious that he was still insecure, something that brought forth a sad sigh from Albus before he doused the lights before leaving to contemplate on what would be done with the boy.

In the midst of informing Minerva of the boy's location and finishing the remainder of his daily workload, the wizard's thoughts lay firmly with the child bundled safely in his quarters. He wanted the boy; there was no doubt about it. In its own way, Albus knew that fate had intervened to grant him what he had been wishing for off and on throughout the school year.

He had hoped for a way to help Harry cope with his life and the burdens the wizarding world had placed on his fragile shoulders. And here was a chance for him to do just that. It was more than the mentoring relationship he had originally envisioned for the boy, but still, in his opinion, fate had answered him, giving him exactly that which he had so feverishly desired.

The headmaster knew that he wanted little more than to grasp wholeheartedly the opportunity afforded to him, could already envision a laughing Harry racing through the gardens to the west of his property or even the soft smile on his face as he sipped on a large cup of hot chocolate in the winter before a fire as they spoke of sweet nothings. Yes, he could see all of those wonderful scenarios happening; even now he felt a whimsical feeling of happiness that only the presence of a child could bring.

He wanted it, wanted to be the one to guide Harry into adulthood and beyond, to be the one the boy turned to in his time of need. He should have done it in the first place all those years ago when he had found him screaming in the remnants of his cradle, inches away from Lily's cooling frame. Instead he had whisked the boy off to muggle relations, and the results of that decision were coming back to haunt him.

Oh, how he wanted the boy in his life, but there was one thing stopping him from doing it, from writing up the papers that would necessitate only two signatures to pass the boy into his keeping. He needed to sort out that matter before he could even think of extending an invitation to Harry and hopefully create that ideal situation.

Thus it was with a heartfelt look towards his personal chambers that he pulled a piece of parchment to him and wrote a brief note, and spent the remaining time before Severus joined him in his office finding a way to convince the man to allow him to gain the little boy he so wanted.

*

He honestly knew that he should not have expected anything different from Severus on the matter, but it still stung the way the younger wizard all but laughed at his proposal before doing the unexpected and issuing an ultimatum when he made it be known that he truly wanted the boy.

The dark-haired wizard crossed his arms across his chest and his nostrils flared menacingly as he spoke. "Find somewhere else for him Albus or by Merlin I swear you better send me back! I refuse to cohabit with the spawn of James Potter. I will not have it!"

Despite the pain the statement caused, anger flared within the headmaster at the man's last sentence. "Harry is not James Severus!" he reiterated for the umpteenth time, as he had been doing since the time when Harry's name had appeared on the list of incoming students. "He is nothing like him!"

Severus' response was the same as always. "There is nothing you can do to change my opinion on the matter Albus. That brat is nothing more than a walking replica of his blasted father! I already have to put up with him in my classroom and now you mean to bring him into my personal life as well!"

"Nothing is decided yet-"

"Bullocks!" he grated out, the word emerging on a hiss. "You would not have said anything otherwise. You have already made up your mind on this matter! Apparently, as always, my needs are secondary to yours and it is all because, always has been and always will be because of a blasted Potter!"

Despite his anger at the man's cruel words, a small amount of guilt entered into the headmaster's consciousness, as he wondered, not for the first time, if his actions that dreadful night were responsible for setting Severus down the dark path he had taken. Perhaps if he had not been so callous to him while attempting to prevent the exposure of Mr. Lupin's secret, maybe if he had not punished Severus the true victim while letting off James with what amounted to a slap of the wrist, then Severus would not be the bitter man he was today.

Albus was unable to change his past actions, but had sought to make amends for them in the best way he knew how. He had argued the death-eater turned spy's case against the Wizengamot, successfully getting Severus' twenty-year sentence to Azkaban altered. Instead, Severus had been handed over to him, with Albus becoming a guardian of sorts to him, (he refused to see himself as the man's glorified warden) responsible for his rehabilitation.

The terms of this agreement was extensive, but it allowed enough leeway for Severus, with his potions mastery to become a professor at the school where he would easily be under Albus' watchful eyes. The problem arose for the summer vacation period when students were not allowed to remain at the school. He usually had a month for himself before he was needed for cases brought before the Wizengamont or overseeing the renewal of the school's wards.

Severus was not allowed on the compound during the warding as his location would not be easily traceable and thus would be at Dumbledore's estate. And while the potions master flooed into the manor nightly during the holidays and would no doubt ensure that Harry was no where around at the time, it was inevitable that their pathswould cross and it was those moments that had the headmaster worried. Moreover, Albus knew that he would ask the man to watch over Harry in his absence, the child would need supervision after all.

Severus had already correctly guessed that Albus would wish for him to keep an eye on the lad, something he would not stand for doing and thus from the moment, Albus had revealed his intentions towards the boy, Severus had launched into a protest that he already knew would be futile. The headmaster's mind had been made up.

He was not asking for Severus' permission. Indeed, in his own highhanded way, the Chief Warlock expected him to nod benignly, swear not to be over antagonistic towards the little brat and that would be the end of the matter. That was something the potions master was not prepared to stand for and so, rashly he declared his desire to be sent to Azkaban, hoping that it would show how against he was having the boy join their 'family'. However, as expected, his words were ignored.

"Severus," the headmaster said, a slight edge of pleading to his tone. "The child has no other home. It is my duty to find him one."

"But why with you?" he shot back. "Anyone would want him. He's the bloody boy-who-lived, shoddy little brat. Put out an ad, a line of people would be here in ten minutes all glad for the fame it would afford them for having the great Harry Potter in their care."

Albus sighed, dropping his gaze slightly. "And it is for that very reason that that is not feasible Severus. Harry would be little more than neglected, a trophy to be put on display. I cannot allow him to be hurt further than I believe I've already allowed him to be."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "So instead I could be..." abruptly the man's speech halted as a facet of the headmaster's words caught his attention. "What do you mean?"

"About?"

"You said 'I've already allowed him to be,'" the man frowned. "Explain."

Although the directive was terse at best, the headmaster saw the impromptu opportunity his slip of tongue had given him and grasped onto it easily. It was not often that Severus was curious and even less so when he actively showed it. This could be the chance to gain the man's compliance.

Tempering his voice, Albus espoused on his theories regarding his potential ward. "I have noticed several anomalies with Harry that lead me to believe that his time spent with his relatives did not go as smoothly as I had planned."

"Anomalies?" the man repeated with a slightly raised eyebrow.

"Yes Severus. I had at first believed that Harry's...shyness was innate in him, but now I can not help but wonder if it is not a side-effect of his upbringing."

"This is not a theatrical event and I dislike being kept waiting. Say what you have to say."

Although a small frown creased at the elder wizard's brow at the sharp tone, he nodded. "I have reason to believe that the boy was somewhat abused."

Albus watched as his employee slumped visibly back against his chair, his skin paling dramatically as he took in the revelation. The headmaster was well aware of what thoughts were currently running through his mind and although he sympathised, he hoped that this would prove how much Harry needed to come into his care.

Almost a minute passed before the carefully crafted mask that the man wore was back in place and his voice was carefully neutral when he spoke next. "What is your proof? Without unnecessarily additions."

Albus huffed slightly before agreeing. "First and most important when told of his relatives' death he flew into a panic..."

"Justifiable," Severus murmured.

"He was frightened that he would be handed over to another relative who would kill him by the end of the week."

"Possible exaggeration..."

"Not if you had witnessed it. The boy's fear was palpable. From what I gleaned he has had altercations with the woman in the past although his aunt...urged her to keep the injuries to concealable parts of his anatomy."

The potions master mused thoughtfully for a moment before sharply demanding, "What else?"

"Secondly, Harry is a timid child...too timid. At first, I believed he suffered repercussions from his attack, although with time I realised that it seems innate to his nature. Given his parentage," he said in a mild tone, "I believe that while Harry is naturally shy to a certain degree, his actions are more so of someone trying to physically project submissiveness."

"And in doing so be trying to subvert an attack?"

"My thoughts exactly," Albus agreed. "Once comfortable in my presence, Harry's shyness is at a minimum unless he perceives that I am displeased. At that time, it is at an utmost high. Surely you have noticed this?"

The man gave a noncommittal grunt, as if refusing to dwell on the matter.

"Are you sufficiently convinced Severus?"

"I am not," the man retorted, folding his arms across his chest. "Children tend to exaggerate their fears. Perhaps he received a hard smacking from the woman and developed a fear of her. In his mind, his image of the woman is accurate but I am certain that it is not as bad as it seems.

"As for your second point, there are some people who are naturally submissive much like a wolf pack. Alphas and betas. Perhaps he simply falls into the latter category? However, my last and most pressing point Albus is that you have yet to show me concrete proof that the boy's relatives were abusive of him. I am not convinced."

"And what would you have me do? Openly ask him? You know as well as I what the results of that would be. Did your own abusive past not come to the forth only during the trial when all of your memories were scanned? Numerous times I recall Slughorn referring to your refusal to explain your injuries after holidays."

For a moment, Albus wondered if he had gone too far for the man's hands clenched abruptly in his lap and his entire frame stiffened. Minutes passed between them until finally, the potions master's shoulders slumped, and although his voice came out in little more than a whisper, it was clearly audible to the headmaster.

"Do not expect me to be more than civil to the boy Albus. I will try to temper myself around him, and in the lessons I know that you will have me give him, but I will not put up with insolence from the boy."

"I sincerely doubt that Harry has ever shown you true insolence Severus."

There was a pause before Severus spoke again. "Do not expect me to participate in any aspect of raising the boy. I do not want to be sought out for anything. I am not a live-in babysitter."

From the moment the man had begun to speak, a wave of happiness swept through the headmaster. Severus was agreeing to his proposition. He could have his lad. However, before the happiness bubbling through him could manifest itself on his face, the potions master shot him a speaking look.

"Do not celebrate Albus. The boy might yet run for the hills when he hears what living with you entails. I will eat my socks if the boy agrees to live with the greasy bat of the dungeons."

And suddenly, Albus no longer felt like grinning while Severus Snape sent a prayer to whatever deity existed that James Potter's son would have the sense to refuse the headmaster's offer.

*

Harry had been all but coerced into taking the remainder of the school week off. As the headmaster had informed him, students facing a similar situation to him all took at least a week off to grieve for the loss of their relatives. The fact that Harry had no home to return too, nor particularly cared for their deaths further than what it entailed for him seemed to escape the man.

Instead, his trunk had been brought into the guest room by a cheerful elf and he was jovially informed that until he returned to classes, he would reside in the headmaster's quarters where he could pass the time reading or catching up on assignments until his situation had been addressed and suitable guardians had been found for him.

Although at the time, Harry had done little more than nod at the headmaster's prolonged speech, he was concerned with the decision facing the headmaster. In all honesty, he was afraid of what new guardians would mean for him. Learning the expectations they had of him, and what if they had children? More than likely, they would be wizards. What if they punished him for his freakishness with magic...hung him by his toes off the ceiling or something equally as bad?

Harry knew that he was only a child, and a freakish one at that. For that reason he strongly believed that his opinion on the matter was unwanted. The headmaster would find him a new family and that would be it. Harry's thoughts on the matter would not be welcomed, because if it were, Harry would quickly tell the headmaster that the only person he wished to be a ward for was the same one who was searching for a home for him. However, he could never be so brazen as to impose himself on the man and so smiled benignly over dinner while the headmaster told him about the inroads he had made thus far with his task.

And so, on the third day of his stay with the headmaster, when he was called into his office and found himself staring into gently twinkling blue eyes, Harry recognised that a decision had been made and steeled himself as he sat in the indicated seat, waiting to be informed of whom would be saddled with his presence.

Five minutes later, tears burned at the child's eyes as impulsively he leapt from his chair and crossed to the wizard, wrapping arms around his torso as he sobbed into his chest.

"Yes! Yes!" he gasped around sobs as he felt warm arms wrap around him, lifting him so that he was seated on the man's knee. He held on to him tightly as his mind tried to wrap around the fact that the headmaster wanted him, disregarded all the annoyances and inconveniences he had cost him in the past few days, and was willing, oh so willing to have him, a nuisance in his life permanently.

"There, there," the man cooed, as he cried. "No need to carry on so, one would think that you are sad."

"I-I'm not!" Harry protested, pulling back and staring at him through watery eyes. "I'm h-happy sir! Honest!"

"I believe you," he replied with an indulgent smile, dabbing at the wet cheeks with a handkerchief. "And I am happy too that you wish to be with me."

"H-honest?" Harry questioned, unable to believe that the headmaster was glad to have him. Was it not done out of pity? Did it matter? He had a home!

"Honest," Albus repeated, amused by the openness in the child's expression. "However my boy, there is one thing you must know before you decide if you wish for me to become your guardian, or decide that you wish for me to find someone else."

The boy's eyes widened comically as if there was nothing in the world that could make him change his mind. That thought changed moments later when he was informed that he would have to live with his dreaded potions master.

*

Although Harry was not usually one to disobey a directive, after tossing relentlessly about his bed for at least an hour, the boy put the sneaky skills he had learnt dodging his overweight cousin to use and in short order slipped past the gargoyles for a prolonged stroll around the castle that could hopefully help him clear his mind.

Professor Severus Snape, the first person to have openly made his disdain towards Harry known. Out of all his classes, Harry would freely admit that potions was the worst. The man breathed harshly down his neck, causing his hands to tremble so badly that many times he had accidentally cut himself, his blood automatically making the potion useless. Or there were the times when the Slytherins attempted to sabotage his work and the man turned a blind eye before removing points from him when his potion bubbled over.

Harry was terrified of the greasy haired, crooked nosed man who stared at him with an expression bordering on hate. He could never forget how humiliated he had been when the man barked question after question at him, his stuttered responses seemingly amusing the man tremendously until a broken sob had escaped Harry.

And then he had pounced on him, like a predator finding an readily available injured prey, snidely remarking that the boy-who-lived was brought to tears from the simple realisation that he was nobody. And now, the headmaster wanted for him to live with the man? Harry honestly did not know if he could handle that.

A long time the eleven year old had learnt a harsh lesson that always stuck with him. For everything positive that occurred, something negative was always attached. And over the years he had watched that lesson reinforce itself in him countless times. His time at Hogwarts was just another indicator of that life lesson. When his relatives finally agreed for him to come to the school (since the Freak would be out of their lives for so many months) he had been ecstatic.

Surely, away from his bullying cousin he could finally make a friend or two. Someone who didn't mind reading as he did or wouldn't laugh at him when he stuttered helplessly when feeling overwhelmed or blushed bright red when under intense scrutiny. He could not help that he was shy; he just didn't like being the centre of attention. Besides, whenever he crumpled himself up like that his Uncle went minutely easier on him, as if glad that he openly showed that he knew of his inferiority to everyone else, understood that all he was good for was helping his betters.

As such, he had believed that Hogwarts would be a blessing for him, and as it had turned out the place was a veritable curse, the only positive he had derived thus far was the few comforts that the headmaster had afforded him. Consequently a part of him eagerly wanted to grasp the chance to live with the man, it was the greatest positive that he had come across to date. But then, almost immediately his bubble of happiness had been broken as the headmaster almost apologetically informed him about the rest of the possible arrangement and Harry's bubble of joy burst abruptly.

The headmaster had not given him a time limit in which to give his response on the matter but Harry knew that it would not be too long before the wizard lost all patience with him and rescinded his offer. Therefore, Harry wanted to decide tonight. Were the possible affections the man would surely lave on him enough to endure the boorish presence that would be Snape? He was not sure what the answer to that question was.

Sighing deeply, Harry turned the corner, not paying particular attention to where he was going in the dimly lit corridor. That combined with his preoccupied state made it so that he was unaware of the other presence in the hallway until he literally bumped into it and with a startled cry fell to the cold floor.

Not even bothering about the slight smart to his bum, the eleven year old scrambled to his feet, ducking his head as he stuttered an apology. He had not bothered to look and so whimpered when a surly voice spoke to him.

"We are out terribly late are we not Mr. Potter?"

Oh no.

Harry's entire frame stiffened as a tremor ran down his spine. It was Snape; the very man on whom he had been contemplating. Feeling his breathing grow slightly erratic, the boy hastened to apologise again. "I-I'm s-so-rry P-Professor. I-I d-did n-not m-mean to h-h-hit you."

Knowing that the apology would be useless Harry squeezed his eyes shut as he waited for the berating to start. When none came after several seconds, he gathered enough courage to raise hesitantly his gaze to look at the man, noting in surprise the contemplative look the man bore.

Finally, after what seemed like eons, the man crossed his arms across his chest and eyed him critically. "Where are we supposed to be at eleven in the night Mr. Potter?"

Harry blinked slightly. What was with this 'we' business? Snape never asked questions before, instead simply stripping the hide off whoever had earned his ire.

"Mr. Potter?" he pressed, a slight hint of annoyance entering his tone.

"S-sorry sir," Harry stammered, ducking his head.

Snape's response was swift. "I do not recall asking for an apology Mr. Potter. Or am I mistaken?"

"N-no sir."

Above him, the man's breath emerged on a huff. "Then answer my question"

Harry swallowed nervously. "I-in b-bed."

"Indeed you are. It is past curfew and after the Fall term I would think that you knew better than to traipse about the school after hours."

"Y-yes s-sir."

"Knowing this Mr. Potter, why are you not in your bed?"

Never lie. That was another thing Harry had learnt in his younger days. Adults always saw through them and you ended up in big trouble, whether it was for stealing the half slice of bread Dudley hadn't eaten, or being out after curfew.

Still stammering, Harry spoke to the dreaded potions master. "I wasn't sleepy so I took a walk."

"Sneaked out didn't you?"

"Y-y-yes sir. The headmaster does not know where I am." Harry whispered, barely restraining a flinch as it occurred to him that he was breaking, yet again, the headmaster's directive. The man would not want a disobedient ward, what if he took his offer back?

Harry fully expected the man to start scolding him but surprisingly, he hesitated before asking a question completely unrelated to the matter at hand.

"Mr. Potter, did the headmaster speak to you?"

Realising immediately to what he was referring, the dark haired wizard nodded, his nervousness increasing.

"And your thoughts on the matter?"

*

When Severus asked the question, he immediately expected the boy to reply that he had out rightly declined the offer, before raising his face and sneering at him as James Potter used to do. What he got instead was a small sound of distress as the child took two steps back from him, even as a visible tremor became evident.

Unwillingly Severus was drawn back to his conversation with the headmaster, and he found himself trying to match his thoughts with what he was currently seeing. The potions master found himself biting back an oath when he saw the truth in the man's claim.

The boy obviously terrified standing before him was eerily similar to the little boy Severus had been, the unwanted half-blood whose father took it upon himself to beat the magic out of him, leaving him with among other things, the crooked nose he sported. It was in that moment, when Severus saw himself in the shoes of the little boy cowering before him that something snapped within him and the man knew instinctively that, knowing what he did about the boy, he would be hard-pressed to continue his scathing attacks on the Gryffindor.

For all that he despised James Potter, he knew he could never take advantage of a child whom had grew up in fear as he had. And while his years of neglect had rendered him by large a bitter man, it was obvious that Potter was one step away from being a broken boy.

A voice within his mind told him that the life debt he owed Potter, which had undoubtedly transferred to the boy would be spent at the very least, not adding to the boy's dismal state. To do so, he could not go about scaring the child out of his wits, no matter how satisfying it was to see James' face cringing in fear because of him.

"I do not have all night Mr. Potter," he reminded, although to his own ears, his tone was not as harsh as usual.

"He did sir," was the stuttering reply.

Was he always like this? Severus wondered, trying to recall a moment when the child spoke fluently. "And what was the result of that conversation?"

"If I say yes I would be living with you also sir," was the timid response.

Severus strongly believed that the child expected him to bite off his head for the response. Surely the boy had not acted this way his entire tenure at the school. He was in his presence three times a week for an hour and a half. How could he not have noticed the obvious signs on the boy? But then, he never had looked beyond the fact that the boy was the spawn of Potter had he?

"And your opinion on the matter?"

"I do not know sir."

Severus waited for several moments for the boy to expound on his statement and when none came, he huffed impatiently. "Speak boy!" he demanded, only to curse as the boy flinched at the harsh tone. Moderating his tone slightly he tried again. "Tell me what you think Mr. Potter."

For the second time in their impromptu encounter the boy's eyes rose hesitantly before his responded. "You hate me sir. I don't know if I can..."

The potions master closed his eyes warily as he pondered on the words. They were not said in an accusatory tone, but rather as a fact. Suddenly Severus realised that he truly was the only barrier preventing the boy from getting the help he would need, and salvage his life before it fell apart at the seams. It was suddenly critical to him that this boy pass into Albus' care for the headmaster indeed would be good for him. If he was honest with himself, Severus would admit that the headmaster had been a great aide to him in the past eight or so years.

"Mr. Potter, I do not hate any of my students," he grated, as he uncrossed his arms and stared down into the wide emerald eyes. "Yes you dunderheads annoy me greatly and yes I do sometimes believe that the school should be called Hogwarts Zoo of Unmannerly Children, but never once have I hated a student that has passed under my tutelage. Do you think that you are so special that I would hate you?" he added, unable to resist the last jab.

The child blinked at his words before shaking his head. "I am not special sir," he murmured.

"By right you are not," Severus agreed. "You are but a little boy like the other first years here and I see no reason for any special treatment to be afforded to you."

"Y-yes s-sir," Harry agreed. The man was right; he was only a freak.

"As such," the man continued, interrupting his thoughts. "I see no need for you to be different from the other students by not having someone to oversee your needs. Merlin knows you need a keeper."

Harry made a confused sound. What did the man, looking at him with his stern face mean?

"Thus, I demand that you accept the guardianship offered to you. At least that way I will have the peace of mind knowing that someone will stop your dunderhead tendencies and give you the discipline you undoubtedly need. You might even brew a potion right," the man finished on a slight sneer, hoping that the child would understand his message.

Just because Severus now recognised what Albus saw in the child, did not mean that him mannerisms towards him would completely change. He was the snarky bat of the dungeons, even if he now felt the link people who went through the same experiences shared. There was no way in hell he was going to coddle the boy, reassure him that he was not hated. No, Severus Snape did not act so and never would. The boy would have to read between the lines.

And surprisingly the boy did for a fleeting emotion flitted through his eyes and when he spoke next, though shaky, he was not stuttering to the extreme he was before.

"I understand sir."

"Understand what Mr. Potter?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. "That I will be taking ten points from Gryffindor for your blatant disregard of school rules? That is a given."

He resisted a smirk at the slight cringe the boy gave. But then, a resigned air overcame the boy as if he knew he should not have expected more from him.

"Yes sir," Harry mumbled. "But I also understand what you meant about the guardianship."

"Good," Severus said shortly, striving to keep his expression neutral. "Now I think that we should be getting back to our beds before the headmaster notices our absence or a certain professor decides that ten points was not enough for such an offence."

The boy's eyes widened slightly as he nodded shakily, turning to leave. There he had done it, convinced the boy to take the care he so desperately needed. However, Severus still felt that all was not right with the boy, that he did not completely understand the underlying meanings of his words. That could cause problems later on he acknowledged, and knowing that he ought to nip it in the bud, he called back the child who was about to turn the corner.

"Mr. Potter!"

"Yes sir?" he asked hesitancy, one hand resting lightly on the stonewall.

Adopting his classroom demeanour, Severus spoke in a clipped tone. "Where would I find a bezoar Potter?"

The boy eyed him incredulously, no doubt wondering if he was mad quizzing him on Potions in the middle of the night. However, on seeing the telltale way the man was tapping his index finger, he knew he had but seconds to respond before earning himself a tongue-lashing.

"Um...in the stomach of a goat sir."

A sharp nod was the only response. "And the difference between wolfsbane and monkshood?"

"They are the same plant, also known as aconite," he replied, even as a look of dawning realisation entered his gaze.

Satisfied, Severus asked the final question. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

"Um..." the boy frowned thoughtfully for a moment. "A really strong potion? Living Death?"

"Partially right," he allowed. "Under the circumstances I am removing five of the points I would have allocated you for a complete answer. Now hurry off Mr. Potter before I retake the twenty five points I have just afforded you."

The look on the boy's face was comical Severus thought as he realised that Snape of all people was giving him points and not deducting them at a rapid rate. Not wanting to tempt the man into doing exactly that he nodded briskly a small smile playing at his lips.

"Yes sir! Thank you," he said before running off, leaving the man alone in the empty corridor.

"Five point from Gryffindor for racing in the hallways," the potions master murmured, as he turned around, deciding that the book he had been on his way to collect could wait until morning. "And twenty points to Gryffindor for good decision making."

An hour later while he waited for sleep to claim him, Severus Snape sighed as he realised that he might not be able to stay true about his words to Albus. Somehow, he just knew that he would become involved in the boy's life. Moreover, he found himself unable to decide whether it was a good thing or not.


	5. Chapter 5

"Go on Harry," the headmaster urged, as he gently pushed the reluctant boy out of the door, waving at him encouragingly when Harry gave him an odd look, like if he wanted to say something but did not have the courage to do so. It cleared after a moment and the boy gave him a small nod before turning and slowly making his way down the pathway. Several times, he turned to make sure the old wizard was still there and each time Albus waved t him until finally the eleven year old was across the street, the white and gold door slowly closing behind him.

Under different circumstances, Albus would have gone across with him, and in doing so satisfy his own curiosity about the dwelling, but remaining here was more imperative. He needed the time to speak without worrying about the boy overhearing and so with great reluctance he closed the front door wondering if he should have dragged Severus away from his potions if only to ensure that Harry would not be alone in the house he had inhabited for years. A brief grimace crossed his features. That would not have been feasible in the least. The potions master would have done nothing but growl at the little boy to speed up the process and undoubtedly, Harry would have reacted negatively to that. This was the best way, he reassured himself as he returned to the cramped and rather odorous living room where Arabella was now placing a tea tray.

Shooing two of the woman's numerous felines off a chair, the headmaster claimed the seat for himself, pointedly ignoring the doleful looks the animals sent his way as they climbed to another seat. The squib chuckled at their antics even as she served them before seating herself, and after they had taked the requisite polite sip, she broached conversation.

"Are you sure you don't want to accompany Harry Albus?" she inquired as she set her cup aside to aid an overweight cat who had been determinedly trying to leap unto her lap, cooing at the thing who was now curling comfortably on its favourite spot.

"It's fine," Albus reassured her quickly, while simultaneously ignoring the pang of guilt he felt. He reminded himself that getting information about Harry's past was much more important than accompanying him to Number Four. "It will give him the chance to say a final goodbye to the place for I doubt there will be need to return to it henceforth."

"I suppose you're right," she murmured, reclaiming her cup once again even as her eyes drifted to the window. "I'm really glad you decided to keep him, you'll do wonders for him, of that I am certain."

A small smile played at the man's mouth at the vote of confidence. "Thank you," he replied sincerely, "I'll do my best with him. This is partly why I wanted Harry gone for a little bit."

"Oh?"

"Well you see Arabella, despite the many years I've spent at Hogwarts, I've never quite come across someone like Harry and I'm afraid I have not the slightest clue as how to go about raising him. He is so shy and easily unsettled. I was wondering if you can tell me anything you know about him so I know how best to deal with him?"

There was a long pause while the squib thought before responding. Her eyes were firmly set on the cat in her lap. "You've got Harry in a nutshell," she murmured. "Shy and unsettled. He was like that with me too and he's spent an awful lot of time over here, especially when the Dursleys went off on vacations."

"Harry was not taken along?" he asked curiously.

"Never," she agreed. "But then you could hardly blame them. The poor lad has terrible motion sickness, I saw it for myself when I tried to take him to the community swimming pool once. He sicked up before the car was out of the driveway and was deadly pale. Never tried it again. Plus there's his terrible shyness which you've had first hand experience with no doubt."

"That I have," he stated wryly, remembering the difficulty he faced, even now in coaxing words from the little boy.

"He's even worse in crowds," she went on. "Panics like hell. What kind of fun would he have on a vacation? Absolutely none and so he was left behind with me. I tried my best to entertain the lad, oh don't glare so Albus. It might seem cruel to Harry and at first I was a tad upset with the Dursleys...there's medicines that could deal with such things. But at the end of the day I realised that Harry really doesn't mind keeping his own company so I didn't push the matter.

"He's a delight to have around at any rate. Polite in every situation and oh so helpful. We had most of our disagreements that way with me scolding him for doing chores."

"Surely that is something to encourage?"

"Not when the boy tries to seat me down in my own living room and runs about cleaning. He even tried to sneak around me to do it and looked terrified whenever I stopped him. Toys never interested him, not even when I tried to play with him. A broom and a dry cloth was what he preferred over my nephew's puzzles and games. You best keep an eye on him Albus or else he'll clean you if you stand to still," she laughed.

Albus forced out a small chuckle. "How did Petunia react? For surely you mentioned it to her?"

"I did," she agreed. "It seems he took an interest in the housekeeping channel on the telly and went crazy with it. He has an eye for gardening as well. The gardens are immaculate when he is around. Were he muggle I would put my money on him being a landscaper."

"Admirable," he agreed, making an absentminded note to ask the Muggles Studies professor just what that was. "So he likes cleaning and gardening. Regular travel methods are not suitable and he prefers his own company. Anything else you can share?"

"Albus!" she laughed. "Normally children do not come with manuals. You seem as if you are making a list. The joy of parenting comes from learning a bit about the child each and every day. I think I've told you quite enough already."

"So you've caught me," he laughed quickly, his eyes twinkling slightly. "But you can't blame an old man for trying. Perhaps one more detail Arabella?"

"Well," she began thoughtfully, "I can tell you that unlike other parents, you will not have to worry about mischief from the lad. An angel from heaven that one is."

"Really?" he asked with slight disbelief. "You must be pulling my leg Arabella. All children, bless their little hearts have a curiosity that often leads them into trouble. Shy as Harry may be, surely he has done something?"

"Hmm... that really is a hard question Albus. When he isn't cleaning or helping he tends to stay out of my way, drawing little things on the paper I give him, Wait...there is one time," she said with a small frown, as if struggling to remember the incident in particular. "Ah yes, there was one time...but it barely qualifies."

"Tell me anyway," he urged.

"He was staying with me a few weeks. The Dursleys had gone on vacation and then Dudley had contracted measles so I offered to keep him with me. It was around the third week and I wasn't feeling so well and left him to his own devices. Which lead to a thorough cleaning of the kitchen on his part. I didn't have the energy to try to stop him and the lad looked happy enough.

"Anyway, it was a maybe an hour or two later when I heard poor Mr. Whiskers crying for his dear life. For a minute I thought he had gotten into a skirmish or something but then I realised it was coming from the kitchen and Harry was being awfully quiet...well quieter. When I got to the kitchen, what would I find but Harry holding my poor cat under the faucets. Thank goodness that my heater was on the frits then because he had both controls on. He released him immediately but did not seem the slightest bit guilty. More than that, he said the cat deserved it for soiling the floor. That explained it; my floor fairly gleamed. The little mite got annoyed that Whiskers had spoilt his work and exacted some revenge."

"You're right," the headmaster said after several minutes of contemplation. "That barely counts as mischief but thank you anyway."

"You're welcome Albus. I told you, Harry is perfectly well behaved, I doubt you will find any fault with him."

"Of that I am certain."

Conversation was light for the next few minutes as the adults talked further, Arabella inquiring about his schooling and what was going on in the wizarding world these days. But over the light conversation, both adults paid special attention to the clock on the nearby wall. Albus had told Harry to be back in an hour and as the minutes to the designated time grew nearer, conversation grew sparse.

With barely ten minutes of the time left, both visibly perked up when the front door cracked open and there was the light patter of feet as the eleven year old came into view. The welcoming smile that was forming on the old wizard's face never materialised as the boy broached the corner, an anxious expression on his face. His arms were wrapped around the oversized pouch Albus had given him (designed in a way that it expanded infinitely on the interior but was small enough on the outside to allow easy transportation).

Barely had Albus extended a hand in invitation to the boy, his heart sinking at the palor on his face and the slight tremor coursing through his young frame did Harry emit what amounted to a strangled cry. Abandoning the pouch without further thought, the messy haired child was across the small room, ignoring the offered hand in favour of wrapping both of his smaller ones around the man's forearm in a surprisingly tight grip. "Before the man could think to comment, Harry went further, resting his head against the limb.

"The poor dear," the squib said sympathetically. "It must now have hit him."

"You'll be fine Harry," Albus whispered as he bent his head to rest on the child's, stroking his back with his free hand. Although he partially agreed with the woman's assessment, he knew that it was not a bout of grief that Harry was suffering from. Not with the way the boy was softly crying and flexing his fingers. Not with the boy's murmurs of "You're here," and "You're real."

"I am real," Albus whispered, relieved when Arabella excused herself to give them a bit of privacy. "Why would you doubt that my boy?"

"F-freak," Harry managed through his tears. "Y-you s-s-stayed for a-a-a f-reak like me?"

"You are not a freak Harry," Albus sighed. "Did I not tell you to forget what that boy told you?"

The boy shook his head furiously but did not protest further, instead slowly raising tear-rimmed eyes. "Y-you w-w-want m-me?"

"I do Harry. Was that what you thought, that I sent you there to abandon you?" Hesitantly the boy nodded, no longer meeting his gaze. "I'm sorry you felt that way, my boy," he said sincerely, cursing himself for the distress he had caused the boy. "But know this; I will never abandon you Harry. You are too important to me know. I want you remember? I want you."

"F-for h-how l-long?"

"Forever," Albus murmured, guiding the boy around so that he was standing in front of him and he could tip his face up. "I want you forever Harry Potter. And I will spend everyday proving that to you until that disbelieving look leaves your eyes."

"S-s-orry."

"That's okay," he whispered, wiping away a tear with his thumb. "You don't need to apologize for what you did not cause. Now, take deep breaths and calm down for me hmm? Aunty Arabella will, I'm sure, like to see a smile from you before we leave here."

"I-I'll try," Harry promised as his chin was released.

"That's all I ask of you Harry," Albus replied softly as he gave him a handkerchief. "Do your best and I will be pleased."

*

"Fawkes has mated with one of Hagrid's flobberworms Albus. What do you think he'll name the new species?"

"That's nice, Severus," came the absentminded reply as the white-haired man, dipped his quill in his inkwell once again. "Do you think Harry likes blue?"

"How should I know?" he snarled.

"I think so too. Navy blue trousers it is..."

Sneering at the headmaster, Severus rose abruptly and was out the door in seconds. "Why the hell summon me only to ignore me," he groused once the door was closed. He bet the man had not even noticed he was gone. "A waste of my time!"

About to step onto the staircase, he stopped when there was a displacement of air besides him before Fawkes appeared, eyeing him apologetically. "What do you want drumstick?" he asked, getting an indignant trill from the bird. "You don't want me to go do you? Fine but I'm not going back into that office to be ignored. His quarters it is then. Now shoo you, I'm in the mood for pheasant but you'll do nicely as well!"

It wasn't as if he could understand the phoenix, well not in the traditional sense. A phoenix's words were only audible to those he was bonded with, in this case Albus. However somewhere along the line Severus had learned to discern the jumbled images the bird sent directly into his mind, so much so that they could communicate. It was rare that they did however, the potions master preferring to ignore the headmaster's office as much as possible, especially for unofficial business. But Severus had learned that a conversation with a phoenix was not to be taken lightly. The phoenix's words always had some importance to it and so, despite his reservations against going to Albus' quarters, he changed paths and went further up until he was stepping into the living room.

He shrugged off his outer robes as he entered, manners coming to the fore automatically and hung it neatly over the back of the first chair he met. Now why had Fawkes wanted him here, he thought, as he looked around the quarters. As with every other time he ventured up here, the raven haired man was assaulted by the homeliness of the area, something he absolutely abhorred. Little had changed since he had first came up here. Books were stilled stacked according to a system only the old man understood, an entire shelf of the bookcase was dedicated to his collection of lemon drops and down to the parchment that always rested on the side desk in case a random thought hit him. Yes, nothing had changed in this place and some would even go so far as to call it the perfect domestic scene.

Severus Snape definitely was not among them.

However, he would admit that this little environment would be perfect for the little family Albus had planned for Potter. The layout was suitable for when Albus sat Potter down near him for an afternoon chat, or serve as a perfect hideaway for when Potter needed to be away from the world for a little while. Yes, it was an ideal location for one Harry James Potter. Abruptly a wave of emotion surged through the potions master, causing his hands to clench tightly into fists as he ventured further into the area, heading for the guest bedroom – Potter's unofficial one – he corrected as he closed the door behind him, recalling a bit of the headmaster's rambles.

Once again, the room was perfect.

What had been the habitat for a guest was slowly morphing into a pre-teen's bedroom. There were some rolls of parchment on a corner of the desk and what seemed to be a starter's quill along with a Charms text book. Gone was the exquisite sheeting Severus was accustomed to seeing on the bed and instead a much more homely quilt was thrown across the bed – perfect for burrowing under, he sneered. A spare uniform hung on the doorknob of the closet and if he were to look, Severus was certain he would find a few changes of clothes within it.

Albus had bent his own precious rules, shrugging off the stipulation that students were to sleep only in their dormitories (a rule invented back in the day when Professors had children in the school). And yet here was Potter with his own little getaway. Harry needed him, the man had explained with a rueful smile when Severus had confronted him on the matter after being told by McGonagoll that the boy was spending two or three nights weekly away from the dorms and almost never was present there during the weekends. He needs me now more than ever, my boy, Albus had continued. Surely you can understand why I can't turn him away Severus?

"I understand perfectly," he said to the empty bedroom, wondering once more why Fawkes had asked him to come here. All that it was ensuring was that some house would be down a good few points later in the day as he tried to brighten his mood. A flutter of parchment from the corner of his eye caught his attention and frowning slightly he moved to the desk where several ends of parchments he had not seen before lay haphazardly in a small pile. "Artist you are not Potter," he murmured as he glanced at the topmost picture.

The drawing was childish to the extreme, the body parts grossly disproportionate, but on the whole, one could comprehend what was being depicted. The person with the extra lines drawn under their face was Albus no doubt...and the little bit on the chair was Potter. But what was Albus doing? Holding a tray of some sort. How quaint, he thought sarcastically, Potter had drawn himself with Albus having tea. He made to move away but his curiousity got the best of him, leading him to move on to the next parchment in the pile. After all, he reassured him, logically this was a good way to get some information on what went on in the child's head.

The next five or so drawings mirrored the first, in that Potter and Dumbledore were together in a farce of a domestic situation. He honestly doubted that some of these scenarios had played out in reality, and thus assumed this was what Potter wished to have. He could not help but wonder if Albus had seen them before reminding himself that he was still angered at the man's earlier ignorance of him.

Just as he was about to give up on the venture believing that there was nothing left among the drawings that would interest him, he spied the edge of a parchment buried deep within the pile and with a frown tugged on it, seeing something different. A moment later he was fielding through the remaining pieces with a frantic haze, lifting one up only to drop it abruptly in favour of another. Finally with the final bit in the pile held in his grip, the potions master felt himself growing faint with shock and automatically moved backwards until he was seated on the bed.

"What the hell is this?" he asked in a shaky tone as he observed the parchment.

Potter had included him in the latter designs. There was no mistaking the stickman in the flapping black robes for someone else, especially not with the cauldrons drawn around him. He had featured in the boy's fantasies as well? The potions master could not phantom it and thus stared blankly at the parchment in his shaking grip. Why, why had he been included?

It was not like he had spoken to the brat in recent times...not since their interaction that night when he had caught him out of bed. Interactions were limited to the classroom and even then more than anything, he tended to ignore the boy as much as humanly possible and save for the usual greeting a student gave a professor if their paths crossed in the hallways, the boy had not made a single effort to approach him – something he found perfectly amendable.

And so, why was he factored into the little fantasy Potter was having about the upcoming holidays? It was not to say that Severus had not participated in any of the preparations for the boy's guardianship, but he knew that Albus would never have mentioned it to the boy. It was he who counselled the headmaster on what he could possible expect from the neglected boy and berated him for sending Potter into his former house alone. He was the one who had nearly tapped the man in frustration when he suggested reopening the ancestral manor of the Dumbledore family simply because it would give the child more room to play in. He was the one who was carefully constructing a schedule for the boy when the school term ended so that he knew what was expected from him each day, something that would hopefully get him settled in easier. Potter knew nothing of these efforts, so why in all things blesses was he in the drawings?

In the numerous little drawings, Potter had depicted three persons. There weretwo men seated in crooked chairs while a smaller thing that barely passed for a boy sat near them, looking at them with what Severus assumed was an adoring expression. What was the significance of a boy sitting on a stool stirring away at a cauldron while he looked on with an expression of patience? Albus' presence was a given, his was unnerving. Apparently Potter wanted more than Albus in his life and it was something he did not know how he felt about.

For one thing, he had expected to be nothing more than the voice of reason, the person who insured that Albus did not send the boy running for the hills with too much affection while simultaneously trying to unravel the mystery of the boy's past in a way that would not leave him broken. On occasion when Albus was busy he expected to be labelled the baby-sitter and would sit Potter down with an essay to write while he went about his normal activities or probe at the boy's aura to see if he could figure out what was wrong with his magic.

And he had assumed that Potter would be fine with such an arrangement, after all it was Albus he clung to like a little monkey, the headmaster the one he deferred to whenever the man was around. He certainly had expected Potter to see him as secondary, someone who came along with the guardianship deal. But apparently Potter wanted more than that, desired him to factor into the equation to a great extent. He wanted him, Severus Snape to be a full member of the little family Albus was forming. It was a mind-boggling revelation to wrap his mind around.

And with that revelation came a new way of thinking for the man as all of his previous decisions in regards to the treatment of the boy went out the window. Suddenly he could see himself leaning noncholantly against the bedroom door's frame while Albus was seated on the side of the bed tucking Potter in as he was certain he would do despite the boy's considerable age. And, when Potter turned drowsy emerald eyes to him, he would allow a gentle smirk to lessen the sharpness of his features as he gave a firm nod before leaving the pair to say a final goodnight.

Moreoever, his imagination stretched, showing him a scenario when a sleep-mussed Potter would amble down the stairs at Cottage House (a name that irked him to no end), rubbing sleepily at his eyes while he moved towards a free seat. And Albus would hug the boy to him with nary a word about his lateness, while he, when Potter finally awoke enough to look at him, would tousle the boy's already messy head roughly and chide him for wasting away a perfectly good morning.

On and on the images went, filling the potion master's mind with hundreds of possibilities, each of them growing more and more welcomed as he saw himself becoming a crucial factor in the little boy's life. The parchment he held in his grip now symbolised many things to one Severus Snape, but most importantly, it meant to him that he was a welcomed member, a true part of the family. It was a shocking hope, but also a welcomed one and Severus found himself still clutching the parchment to him long after he had left the rooms. Eventually when he could part with it, he placed in among his other little treasures to savour at his leisure before sitting down with a pile of end of year exam scripts.

Two weeks later when exam results were owled to students all over the territory, many would remark at the unexpected blessing they had received in the form of higher than normal potion grades. Because, trapped in a surprising good mood, Severus had lowered his standard considerably and for the first time in many years, less than ten children in the entire school failed to make an acceptable grade in the class.


	6. Chapter 6

"And this Harry," Albus announced with a wide smile as a wide-eyed eleven year old clutched nervously at his hand. "Is Cottage House – your new home."

There was no reply from the preteen. The boy was too preoccupied with swivelling his head left to right as he took in his surroundings. More than happy to oblige the young lad, the old wizard stood patiently while his new ward observed his surroundings. He could understand the lad's curiosity after all. For one, this was the first wizarding house he had ever had the chance to see, moreover was the fact that this house was his, the place where he would be dwelling for the foreseeable future.

The boy obviously found everything fascinating Albus thought, given the way that Harry was taking small steps away from him to examine something closer, while still maintaining a careful grip on the man's hand, making it so that the headmaster was forced to move with him (not that he particularly minded). The garden was what held his interest, the rows of blossoms a result of the headmaster's boredom one summer. He had taken it up as a hobby subsequently and felt a small bit of pride at the surprised gasp that escaped Harry when the first row of flowers spun abruptly, their petals widening as they faced the eleven year old.

"They're saying hello," he said softly to the wide-eyed boy. "I played around with them a bit so that they react to magic. Since you are new, they are reacting to your unfamiliar signature. They usually dance, but they are a bit shy since you are new. I'm sure once they get accustomed to you, they'll dance for you when you pass."

"How?" Harry whispered. "How are they reacting? Are they eating my magic? Is that why their petals are opening?"

"Not at all," he reassured, resisting the urge to fluff the boy's head. "Your magic is fine. They just sense the magic and move in response, no harm done to you. Nothing in this garden is dangerous to you however, if you wish to wander the greenhouses, I suggest you speak to Severus first. Herbology was never my strong suit. He will be able to advise you as to which plants to avoid in there. Wouldn't want you to be eaten now do you?" he finished with a chuckle.

"Plants can do that?" the boy asked. One would mistake his tone for awe but the way Harry's grip tightened on the man's hand, Albus realised that he was scaring the boy. Unfortunately, it was not as if he could downplay the truth lest the child find himself in difficulty.

"Some plants are dangerous," he agreed. "I think you learnt of the Devil's Snare this year? Yes? Then you understand my point. The greenhouses are Severus' terrain and I have no idea of what he has planted there. There may be one or two vicious plants around, but nothing will happen once you take the necessary precautions."

"Yes sir, I will," Harry agreed, although mentally he was already reminding himself that the greenhouses were to be avoided at all costs. He did not want to become plant food!

Pleased with the sincerity in the boy's tone, the headmaster flashed the boy a pleased smile. "Would you prefer to explore out here first my boy, or shall we go inside?"

Albus had expected his statement to garner swift enthusiasm but instead he felt a moment of panic when the boy flinched, losing his cheerful expression. The only thing that prevented him from moving away, he was positive, was the fact that Albus held his hand in a firm grip. The man's mind raced as he recanted his words, trying to figure out what could he possibly said to scare the child. Harry supplied the answer when he began stammering an apology.

"I'm sorry sir. I didn't mean to keep you waiting! I must be keeping you back."

Eyes widening at the misinterpretation of his words, Albus thanked Merlin for his limberness even as he stooped so that he could look the boy square in the eye. He is too short, he noted idly, for he still had to tip the boy's head slightly. "Not at all my boy!" he reassured quickly. "I was not scolding you child, but offering you a choice. I have no issue if you wish to play immediately, but I thought you might prefer to have a chance to settle in first. You have done nothing wrong my boy; you have nothing to fear of me."

With his chin held hostage, Harry had little choice but to meet the man's gaze and thus read the sincerity of his words. Immediately a wave of shame enveloped him and his cheeks flushed. The man was so good to him, he mused, and here, not ten minutes after his arrival, he had already screwed up, leading the man to take him in hand. Why was he so troublesome to the wizard? Harry was eternally grateful to the man. He was considerably more patient than his relatives ever was with a freak like him. Obviously, the man wanted to go inside but was willing to disregard that fact. No, Harry could not allow the man to sacrifice his comfort and further and thus, although he would have liked to take a better look at the blossoms, he shook his head as much as the grip allowed. Perhaps, he thought, if he was good enough, the headmaster would allow him out here again, and just not for chores. He had mentioned playing after all.

The eleven year old was under no delusion when it came to his new living situation. He knew what was expected of him. Freaks had one purpose in a household, to serve the needs of his betters, in his case, the headmaster and the potions master that he had yet to see for the day. Harry was well aware that his relationship with the headmaster would change once they stepped into the house. Sneaking visits to the man in Hogwarts was one thing; living with him fulltime was another issue.

In the school his guardian often rebuked him (way too gently for what someone like him deserved, but then that was how kind the headmaster was) was he went about the quarters cleaning. It had taken him several subsequent visits to understand what was expected of him. He was not to clean in the man's presence, instead he was to act the part of a student and allow himself to be quizzed lightly on his schoolwork or speak to the man of his day. With that realisation, the confusion Harry had felt retreated and happily, he cleaned around the man's presence, pleased when he saw he was right since the headmaster never mentioned anything about his efforts. However, now that they were in the headmaster's home, the situation would definitely change and he would be expected to pick up his duties full time.

Even from the outside, it was clear that this house was considerably larger than his relative's own, and that meant extra work he knew, but he was alright with the fact. The headmaster was so nice, that it was no problem for him to please the man. How he loved it when the man praised him, and thus despite the size of the house, he would do his best, make the man proud, and hopefully prove to him that he was worth keeping around for more than a summer. He was eager to start the process and so, his voice unlocked. "C-can we go in now sir?"

The beaming smile his words garnered made his heart do a happy beat, and the headmaster nodded. "Let's go in Harry."

"O-okay."

"Where is the door handle sir?" he asked curiously a minute later, looking up at the man. Headmaster Dumbledore did not mind his questions, another fact that endeared the man in his eyesight.

"There isn't any," Albus announced merrily. "See this panel here Harry?" he asked, pointing out the only portion of the door not engraved. "It reads the magical signature of whoever desires entrance. All of the doors are like this. Now come, I have to key you in. Press your hand flat against the panel – it may tickle."

The boy's eyes crossed from the man to the panel for several moments before hesitantly, he placed his trust in the man and reached out, his hand seeming ridiculously small against the wood, especially when the headmaster's substantially larger one settled over his. It did indeed tickle, Harry found out as an involuntary giggle passed his lips at the sensation.

"There, the wards will now allow you entrance into the house and any room you are allowed access to. If Harry, a door does not willingly allow you entrance, you are to consider that room out of bounds okay? Only Severus and I will be able to let you into them."

"Understood," Harry nodded, starting to create a mental list of rules in his mind as he stepped over the threshold. "Wow," he gasped moments later.

From the outside of the house, Harry would never have expected to see such a plush interior. The front door led them down a short carpet covered hall ending with another large door.

"Why?"

"It carries you to whichever room, or floor you desire," Albus informed him as he shrugged out of his robe, Harry quickly following suit. "For instance, if you desire the living room..." he broke off as the door swung open revealing the said room.

It was a wide-open area Harry saw with furniture dispersed about it. The oversized couches created an incomplete square in the centre of the room, and in the middle stood a circular patterned rug upon which a glass top table sat. Directly across from it was a large granite fireplace, in which a pile of wood was neatly packed. The mantle above it held a number of things, Harry saw and an oversized portrait of Hogwarts stood proudly above it all.

That was obviously the central area of the room Harry noted as the only other furniture in sight were small side tables upon which sculptures or vases sat. On one wall were several floor to roof length windows that gave a clear view of the meadow outside. The overhead lights provided light in the night, Harry supposed.

Leaning against the doorway casually Albus allowed Harry to look around as he pleased.

"This room is rarely inhabited," he said eventually, leading Harry to turn disbelieving eyes to him. Why wouldn't someone want to spend as much time as possible in such a room? It was wonderful!

"Severus tends to favour the den and the sitting room is my area of choice. I'm sure you'll find your own little hideaway eventually," he teased, as he gently closed the door. "Why don't you try now?"

"Okay," Harry agreed, eyeing the door. "S-sitting room?"

The door swung open again and immediately Harry could understand what the headmaster loved about the area. It was cozy, much like his quarters in Hogwarts. Comfy armchairs were dispersed around the room. There were not any windows; lanterns instead graced the walls, casting a warm glow on the room. It was decorated similarly to the last room but overall, with the warm hues and the dark coloured furniture, the room was homely and Harry could easily see the grandfatherly man relaxing in it.

"Can the door only lead to one area at a time sir?"

"That's right my boy," Albus agreed. "However, it disappears once you enter that room and much like a muggle house you will then have to walk from one room to the next."

"Oh," Harry murmured, taking a second to understand the intricacies of the doorway but then shrugged it off.

"The only exception is that the doorway, for privacy reasons, will never lead you directly into a bedroom or bath. Instead it will deposit you on the second floor from where you will manoeuvre yourself."

Now he was starting to get confused, Harry sighed. "Is there any other way into the house?" he asked hesitantly.

"The kitchen has a door leading outside."

"It operates normally?" he asked with a hint of derisiveness in his tone. A magical house was a little more confusing to understand that he originally expected.

"Yes it does," Albus chuckled. "How like Severus you are my boy, he refused the front entrance for months on end."

"I can't blame him," Harry thought, as the man led them into the said kitchen and showed him the doorway.

"Basically," Albus lectured as they stepped from it quickly and into a dining area, "the ground floor has the kitchen, living and dining room, the den and sitting room. The second floor has our personal quarters and the third floor is basically academia."

"Huh?"

"Mine and Severus' offices are up there, along with a library, study, potions laboratory and more recently a schoolroom for you."

"Which rooms are off-limits sir?"

"You will have to talk to Severus in regards to the lab, but I would ask you not to enter either office without permission and knock if you seek us. The same goes with Severus' bedroom and mine unless there is an emergency. You know about the greenhouses and the basement area, well, I suppose that is up to you really. I personally have not been down there in years, I cannot say for Severus."

Harry nodded. "No bedrooms, offices, lab or greenhouse. Is that it sir?"

"So eager to obey Harry?" the headmaster laughed, flicking his nose. "You've covered the basics. Now, shall we see your room?"

"Okay sir, but there is no staircase?"

"Magic Harry," was the simple response as he was led from the living room down a small corridor to the den. Looking beyond it, Harry thought that something seemed out of place. There was a portion of one wall that seemed strangely empty, lacking the portraits and other little marks that the remainder of it bore.

"Tap the wall twice Harry."

Frowning slightly Harry obeyed and jumped in surprise when a staircase materialised. "Wow."

"Fun right?" Albus smiled as they climbed it. "It won't play tricks on you like Hogwarts' ones are prone to do but if not accessed for five minutes it vanishes."

"So I won't fall?"

"No you won't and the entrance seals itself so you don't have to worry about falling down a hole."

"That's good to know," Harry murmured reflectively.

"The stairs to the third floor is located near the end of the hallway. The same process applies."

"Yes sir," Harry nodded.

They walked along the corridor, Albus pointing out the rooms' owners as they went along. "Every other door is a bathroom. Everyone has their own so there is never any competition." The eleven year old made a small sound of agreement. "The yellow doors are guest quarters. The black doors serve Severus. The red are mine, and these," he gesticulated, pausing before the second of three cream doors, "are your rooms."

"Why do I have three?"

"Because you are a child," Albus smiled. "And children deserve a playroom."

It had been a compromise between him and Severus, Albus thought as he led the child into the bedroom. In lieu of moving to Dumbledore manor as he wanted, one of the guest rooms had been converted into a playroom for his young ward. Filling it had been a pleasure for him, even though he had to contend with Severus' snorts as the man idly picked up an item or two before dropping it, a hint of strain in his voice when he asked if he had picked up anything remotely educational. Well, that had led to the potions master making a trip, returning with several games and books that would teach the boy even as he had fun.

"This is too much!" Harry protested, turning to face his headmaster. "Sir, I don't need-"

"Hush child," he interrupted gently, placing a finger over his lips when he made to speak regardless of the request. "Yes, you many not need a playroom, but youdeserve one and you will make me sad if you refuse it. And you do not want that no? Good. Then put a smile on your face and make use of it. Now, what do you think of your bedroom hmm?"

Spinning, Harry took in his surroundings. The walls were covered in a pale blue, with cream curtains blowing gently in front of open windows. Under the windows was a double bed, a darker shade of blue than the walls. On either sides stood side tables, the left one bore a lamp and a rack Harry knew was for books, and the right one bore a jug of water and a glass, and a spot for his glasses he supposed. By now, the headmaster was well aware that he tended to leave his glasses besides his bedside. A desk and chair stood by the opposite wall with a waist high bookshelf besides it. One corner of the room contained what Harry recognised as an oversized bean chair like the ones in the Gryffindor common room. They were ridiculously comfy and a smile curled Harry's lips at the sight of it. He could see himself on it, he thought happily. A wardrobe was built into the final unoccupied wall, taking up the majority of the space.

"Tapping the spot next to it twice quickly will lead to the bathroom, three times in quick succession your playroom...or you can just go out into the hallway and walk to it," he added, seeing the look of chagrin on the boy's face.

"Will do," Harry muttered, before his face cleared. "Thank you sir," he said sincerely. "It is perfect. And it really is mine?"

"Yours to do with as you please," he confirmed, smiling slightly as he opened his arms inviting the boy to give him the hug he obviously wanted to but was to shy to initiate. "Welcome home my boy," he whispered sincerely as he looked down at the dark haired resting lightly against his chest.

Finally pulling back, Albus lifted the boy's face up to his. "Tea is at three, unless you are hungry now?"

"I'm fine sir," Harry said quickly. "What would you like for tea and how many should I cater for?"

The odd statement had Albus blinking for several moments. This was the second time recently Harry had misinterpreted his words. Was he not speaking clearly or was it just Harry? "I will be seeing about tea silly child," he smiled, flicking his nose as was his habit.

A frown shadowed the boy's face. "Then what am I to do sir?"

"Harry," came the swift response. "You've just arrived here child, there is nothing for you to do expect accustom yourself to the house. Why don't you explore your rooms for a while or unpack your trunk? Your new wardrobe is packed but your school things need to be arranged."

"That's all sir?" the lad asked with a slight disbelieving look.

"It's your first day here child. We will sort out a schedule for you eventually but for now just relax okay?"

The palm stroking his cheek assured him of the man's sincerity and so he nodded. "I will sir."

Five minutes later Harry was changed out of his school clothes and eyeing the room around him from his spot on the beanbag. This room was really his he thought in awe, letting the full range of his emotions free now that the headmaster was gone. Really, this room was bigger than Dudley's and it was all for him. It was so much better than his cupboard, he smiled, and involuntarily his eyes drifted to the large closet space. How nice the headmaster was to procure one so large for him. The bed was unnecessary accessory though, although it added an element to the room.

Freaks weren't allowed beds in the house, in school was a different story. There he was Harry Potter the student, desperate to hide his abnormalities and so he had followed his roommates and used the bed, comforted for the first time in a long while by its warm embrace. The headmaster's quarters were the same thing. The man had invited him to utilise it, actually placed him into it on some occasions, a sure sign that Harry was allowed usage of it.

Despite himself, a small sigh emerged from the boy, the headmaster had not done the same with this one, not that Harry expected more. Here he was just the ward, and kind though the old man be, the boy knew that things would not change as much as he hoped. Dumbledore showered him with affection and care, but he knew his place. With that in mind he left the bean chair and examined the closet, smiling at the ample space.

How kind the man was, he thought again, as he went about unpacking his trunk. He had even restrained himself from putting him to work immediately. Tea, as all meals, were his responsibility, he knew the protocol well, but apparently he was being spoiled on this, his first day. He was determined to make it up to the man, and so, he reminded himself to be up early the next morning and prepare a full breakfast for his guardian and the potions master. Hopefully they would be pleased with his skills.

*

"What happened, did Potter not kiss you good night?" Severus sneered as the headmaster wandered into the room, a perturbed expression on his face as he dropped into a seat.

"...closet..." the man muttered, more to himself than anything.

"What was that old man?"

Blinking and drawing himself from his own thoughts, Albus met the younger wizard's gaze. "He was sleeping in the closet. The closet of all places!"

Uncharacteristic for the man, Severus' eyes bulged at the odd statement despite himself. "What?"

"I went to tell him goodnight, and the bed was empty. I thought that perhaps he had wandered off to the playroom, but as I went to tap the wall, I heard a sound from the closet. Harry tends to murmur now and again when sleeping and that is what I heard. He was sleeping in the closet Severus; he made himself a little burrow and was sound asleep. He woke up as I moved him to the bed, and when I asked all he said was 'not allowed'."

"I take it you dissuaded him of that notion?"

"I did," he confirmed, "and you know what he did? He murmured that I was so kind to a freak like him. It has been months Severus. Surely, by now he should have been over what Mr. Dawlin said? And why is he acting so strange?"

Severus eyed him carefully. "I will need more information old man. I was after all absent the majority of the day."

"You mean you made yourself scarce," the headmaster countered before dropping the issue.

Carefully he related all that had occurred before he had left the boy in his room, before taking a moment to summon a drink before continuing. "After tea, which he scrambled to pour I might add, he all but fought me to clean the things and seemed distraught when I refused. The same thing went on with dinner. The boy had pots on the stove before I could intercept him and once again, he seemed disturbed. He didn't even step foot into the yard although I know how intriguing he found it earlier and now this?"

"The boy is obviously doing what he is accustomed to," Severus said eventually. "Albus, I did warn you that once you brought him here the extent of his neglect would emerge, What you're seeing is the signs of it. I would wager that he is accustomed to chores, and idleness was probably frowned upon. You were right not to comment on it and instead distract him with other things Albus but that will not do for much longer. We need to sit him down for a talk, find out what is going on in that head of his."

"We?"

"Yes we," Severus glared, as if daring the man to comment on it. "Despite my objections the brat is here and I refuse to have the whelp run amok or you constantly bemoaning his actions as you are now. I will therefore...assist. However, old man, I tell you now, I will treat the boy as I see fit. I am not one to cuddle; that is your job. The boy needs structure and consistency if the habits he is accustomed to are to be broken. That will not be an easy task and he will undoubtedly falter. While not aiming to censure, we must be firm with him and guide him into a better lifestyle."

Surprisingly the headmaster chuckled. "I trust you with him and I trust you know what is best for him, probably more than me given the circumstances. Honestly my boy, I am glad for your presence. I have a weakness for indulgence, especially with him and I fear that at times I will be little more than a doting grandfather. Your presence will reel me in as you have done already."

The potions master chose not to respond to that statement and instead went on. "We will talk to him after breakfast. If what you say is any indicator, then it won't do for him to go around in perpetual confusion. Merlin knows he does it enough already."

However as it turned out, morning was far too late for a discussion. Awakened by the smell of frying sausages another such tempting smells, Severus sneered at the indulgence of the headmaster as he went about his daily routine before heading downstairs to scold the man for the excess. Was he not the one who said the child ate sparingly, and here we was, judging from the smells, preparing a veritable banquet? A rebuke hot on his lips, Severus entered the kitchen only to see, not the greyed haired wizard, but instead one Harry James Potter in the process of flipping some eggs.

Glancing around, Severus decided that this probably would be one of those days he wished he had simply remained in his bed. For despite the multitude of dishes that lay waited to be consumed, it was clearly obvious that the table was set for two and he highly doubted, from the coffee mugs present, that the person not catered for was himself.

Yep, Severus thought with a sigh, it was going to be one of those days.


	7. Chapter 7

Why was the headmaster mad at him? The thought bothered the eleven year old as he sunk further into the bathtub, bringing a leg up out of the warm water and scrubbing at it vigorously. Surely, he had not already failed him? He honestly did not think so, but then, why else would the headmaster insult him so. A freak's value was only found in their usefulness, and, while initially Harry had appreciated the reprieve the headmaster had given him earlier in the day, leaving him with enough time to prepare an ample sleeping place for himself, Harry was now disturbed.

His efforts at tea were rebuffed, and when he had finally managed to sneak around the headmaster and try to start dinner, he had been led away. Did the man think he was useless, a handicap? The thought pained him. He had to prove himself useful, or else how was he expected to pay for the room and board afforded to him. Everything came with a price, it was a lesson long learnt, and yet the headmaster was preventing him from earning his keep. What exactly did that mean; Harry wondered as he dropped the now sore limb into the water and repeated the process until it too stung faintly.

And after the meal, a dinner Harry had not prepared and thus undoubtedly did not deserve to partake from, the man had sent him up ordering him to prepare for the night, and had told him to take a warm bath on top of it. Did he smell? He didn't think he did, but maybe he just couldn't smell it. Baths were a rarity at home for him, given only when his uncle complained of his filth and slapping him soundly, Aunt Petunia would toss him into the small bathroom and order him to clean his filthy body. At school, Harry bathed with a ferocity and regularity that earned him mild disdain from his roommates. But it mattered little to him. He was a student, and had to play the role well. No one could know that there was a freak walking about them.

Grimacing, Harry attacked his back with the sponge, while wondering if it would be wasteful of him to wash his hair. Well, he was told to bath he reasoned and eyed the bottle across the room carefully. He really was a freak he sighed, but at least for now his freakiness would stop him from soiling the bathroom floor. He was an idiot for not walking with the cleansing product he thought, even as he waved his hand and the bottle floated to him. Such a freak, he frowned as it landed in the spot he indicated, he could not even manage magic like a normal wizard. How barbaric was he that he needed his hands to perform whereas others needed the finely crafted tools that were wands. He was a failure of a wizard and a freak of a human.

Finally deciding that he was clean as he would ever be, Harry drained the tub and allowed the towel to wrap around his waist as he frowned, looking around for a scrubber. He had to clean up after himself after all. There was none available and yet Harry new he would face retribution for not cleaning the tub once he was through. More freakiness he decided as he eyed a bar of soap and with some concentration coaxed it into a brush – a soapy, slightly squishy brush – but one nonetheless. Losing himself in the rhythm of scrubbing, the tension knot in Harry's stomach dissipated slightly at the manual labour. True he was only cleaning up after himself, but at least he had done a bit of work. No one would see it, but at least he was being useful.

The bar of soap went through numerous transformations over the next twenty minutes, changing into a rag to wipe the fogged mirror and a mop to clean the floor. It was a mangled mess by the time Harry allowed the transfiguration to fade away and the mirror and floor were decisively soapy, but Harry's towel soon remedied that problem, leaving the bathroom as clean as he could hope for. Hanging the cloth up to dry, Harry went about dressing and grooming himself as neat as possible. How wonderful the headmaster was for giving him the new clothes he thought, only for the joy to dim as he once again contemplated the man's anger at him. So much he had given him, and so little Harry had done in return. The debt he owed the man was swiftly increasing and it hurt him that he was not being given the chance to repay it.

Well, he finally decided after he had painstakingly plucked the strands of his hair from the brush and disposed of it, he would find a way to repay the man. Starting in the morning with breakfast. He would show the man that he was not useless, prove to him that he was worth having around and maybe then the man would allow him to do as a freak should, maybe then he would be allowed to earn his keep. Yes, tomorrow, Harry decided as he got into the closet without a second glance to the bed and closed the door behind him.

The space was almost comforting, reminding him of his cupboard in his previous home. He loved that cupboard, it was small enough to be comforting, safe in its dark embrace Harry felt secure. His relatives never intruded the place, it was his, the only area he was allowed to contaminate with his freakiness. This closet was larger, and would allow him to stretch out a lot more than his cupboard allowed, but he did not want that. Curled into the tight little ball as he was, covered by blanket of clothes he had made, Harry felt secure and comforted. He was at peace. With that thought in mind the eleven year old yawned, and snuggling deeper for a more comfortable spot (after months of soft mattresses the switch back to hard wood was not easy he noted) but eventually he was comfortable enough to relax and drift off.

He was not too long in the realm of sleep when he heard a voice calling to him. He grumbled, he was comfortable and secure, he wanted his rest. He mumbled as much, and dug deeper into his little burrow, wishing that whoever it was would stop it, stop intruding on his secure place. But they were relentless, reaching out and grasping him until he opened drowsy emerald eyes, protesting.

"Why are you in here my boy?" came the concerned voice.

Why wouldn't he be, Harry mused drowsily as he felt himself being lifted. Lifted up, out of his secure place. The realisation was enough to startle him and sleep-laden limbs struck clumsily out, in protest against the removal from the comfortable place. Why was the headmaster doing this, he thought despondently as the man ignored him and moved to the bed, pulling down the sheets and depositing him in between them. His dismal thoughts brought tears to his eyes as he turned his emerald morose gaze to the headmaster.

"Why?" he whispered, seeking comprehension for everything. The lack of chores, the lack of rebukes but most importantly the removal from his secure space. The headmaster never refused him an answer; he would explain why he was being so cruel. However, it seemed it was not to be for instead of answering him, the man shot a question of his own.

"Why were you in the closet my boy, when you have a perfectly fine bed?"

Was he mocking him on top of everything else? The thought caused the tears in Harry's eyes to overflow. "Not allowed," he managed, between sniffles.

He was not allowed in a bed, he was a freak. Was the man setting him up for punishment? Uncle Vernon had done that before, inviting him to sit on the couch before resoundingly slapping him for doing so, telling him, as he tried to stand to his feet, cradled his stinging cheek that it was not his place that he should have said that he was not supposed to. Albus Dumbledore the headmaster was not cruel Harry knew, but perhaps Albus Dumbledore the guardian was?

But now, the man was speaking and lest he be chastised for not paying attention, Harry tuned him in. What was this the man was saying? The bed was his, truly his. He was allowed in it, and was expected in it nightly. He, a freak, was given a bed? No, the man had to be joking Harry thought, but once again there was that sincere gleam in the man's eyes, one Harry always trusted. When the man asked him to stay in the bed and sleep, carefully wiping his tears, Harry had nodded, too stunned to do anything else as he was pressed back against the pillows and tucked in, much like the man did in Hogwarts. But why? Freaks did not deserve such, and here, out of Hogwarts, that was what Harry was once again, a freak. And yet, the man was ruffling his hair as always, going as far as to kiss his forehead and whisper to him to sleep well.

What was going on? Was it because the headmaster was new that he did not know the rules regarding a freak? Was that way he was allowed a bed, like any other normal person. Suddenly a memory came to him, and his conversation with the potions master came to mind.

_"Do you think that you are so special that I would hate you?"_

"I am not special sir." 

"Damn right, you are not. You are but a little boy..." __

What the man had said – was it though? Professor Snape implied that he was not special – normal. Normal like any other boy. But what did that mean, Harry frowned into the darkness. He was a freak and deserved to be treated as such, yet the headmaster was treating him like a normal person. His relatives told him he was worthless, the headmaster treated him like if he had value, a fact reflected in his careful tucking in off him moments before. Aunt Petunia told him he would never amount to anything, but Professor Snape said that he was normal. Who was telling the truth, and who was lying? Was he a freak or was he normal. Or was a freak that the headmaster wished to be normal and such treated him such? It was all too confusing he decided with a groan as he twisted to his side. Freak or normal, who was he? He didn't know and could only hope that he would with time. Until then, he would carry on as he was used to and that meant getting up at the crack of dawn and preparing to face another day.

*

The headmaster had done him a favour, Harry realised the next morning as he finished straightening his sheets to perfection. How silly of him not to have noticed. By sending him to bathe the night before, he had cut down on the time Harry needed to prepare himself. Thanks to the man's consideration, Harry needed a scant ten minutes to shower and since he was basically clean, a pass over tiles with a transfigured cloth was enough to clean it for the day, making it barely six o clock when he entered the kitchen, going to work at once.

A full English breakfast, he decided after a quick search of the pantry. It was the favourite of many he knew and he banked on the potions master enjoying it as much as the headmaster would. Figuring out the stove took some time, much to his chagrin. Where was the gas and turners? Finally after a good few minutes he figured that it ran by magic, and sighing over the need of it all tapped his fingers against where on a muggle stove the controllers would be. Indeed he was right for the stove was lighted. Repeating the process till the necessary flames were made, Harry worked swiftly and quietly, humming contended to himself as he scrambled some eggs while setting others to boil, cutting sausages and potatoes and combining them.

While he had a temporary reprieve, with nothing needing immediate tending, he whisked about, laying out plates and saucers, spoons, forks and knifes, pausing to flip the sausages before returning and arranging the men's spots carefully. Something was missing he thought as he stepped back to analyze it. The drinks, he gasped, wondering at his stupidity. Thankfully there were still burners free allowing him to set up for tea and coffee. Standing on a stool to access some of the higher cupboards, he wondered if the headmaster would mind if he moved some of the items lower. His Aunt hadn't minded too much, especially when she realised that it helped him cook faster. The man was reasonable he decided.

Finally all that was left to do was scramble the eggs and it was with gusto that he tackled the last task. How did the potions master like his? The headmaster preferred his slightly runny (even though Harry personally detested it) but he had no clue about the potions master. Would he prefer his well done, or runny as well. He knew nothing of the man's habits he realised, and knew that that would have to be remedied as soon as possible lest he disappointed. Furrowing his brows Harry decided on in-between. Firm to the touch but slightly sticky, with the barest hint of salt. He could always add condiments if he so desired. Satisfied now, Harry extinguished the stove and turned, ready to shovel the eggs unto a waiting plate when he saw him.

There in the door way, looking at him with a calculating expression was the potions master himself. Dressed in a black shirt and trousers, the man looked grim as he stared at him and Harry felt the pit of his stomach drop. Was the man not pleased? Did he prefer something else for a meal? Or was it the eggs Harry was now holding limply. Seeing that the man was regarding him, and not the table, the eleven year old decided that it was probably the eggs.

"Do you prefer your eggs another way sir?" he asked hesitantly. When there was no immediate response, his nervousness increased and he started to stammer. "Professor Snape? Shall I make you a new batch?"

His question had the man shaking his head slightly, and without looking at him further, he turned, whipping his wand out from some hidden location. Harry's mouth dropped slightly as a silver animal burst from the tip of the man's wand and he spoke to it in hushed tones before pocketing the wand, not paying attention to it further as the animal left the room. Puzzled, Harry relieved himself of his burden and stood awkwardly, steering up at the dark-haired man.

"Sir?" he tried again.

This time, his professor paid him attention, his piercing black eyes staring deeply into his. "Why is the table set for two Potter?" the man asked.

The oddness of the question struck him, and his confusion was reflected in his response. "Are you expecting a guest professor? I can set another if you desire."

His answer seemingly answered the man for his nostrils flared visibly, causing Harry's breath to hitch. His stammering grew worse. "Sir? I am sorry I offended you-"

His apology was cut of by the man's swift words. "Mr. Potter, you neglected to set a space for yourself. Explain?"

The clipped classroom voice brought an immediate response from Harry, who already knew that failure to respond to it, usually led to a deduction of house points or detention. "Freaks do not eat at the table," he said swiftly and assuredly. It was the answer after all. Freaks stood by and waited on the family, and after, if they were pleased or there were leftovers, he was allowed to sample it, given enough that would help him through the day, no matter how undeserving of it he may be.

The man's reaction, if anything was confusing. Did the potions master just flinch, he wondered, only to be distracted when there was the sound of hurried footsteps before the headmaster entered the room, hands still fiddling with the buttons on his shirt an anxious expression on his face.

"The food is still warm Headmaster," Harry said swiftly, reassuring the man. His Uncle always wanted the food piping hot, why would the headmaster be different? "And good morning to you. And you as well Professor Snape, forgive my rudeness if you will."

The men shot each other strange glances. Shrugging lightly Harry spun and proceeded to pull out their chairs, the scrape of it against the floor drawing their attention back to him.

"Harry, my boy," the headmaster said, causing the boy to perk up.

"Yes headmaster, is there anything you require?"

"Like a bloody house-elf," Snape muttered loudly, although Harry paid him no heed.

"Harry," the headmaster repeated, a look of pure confusion on his face. "What is all this?"

"Breakfast sir," he said simply, before his eyes widened. Did the headmaster not want this? "Is there something else you prefer?" he inquired anxiously, his voice descending into a stammer once again. "Did I not please you. I'm sorry! I-"

His last barrage of apologises was cut off when the old wizard reached him suddenly, sweeping him clear of the floor. Harry squawked at the unexpected actions and clung instinctively to the man as he walked from the kitchen, Snape following after waving his wand over the kitchen, not meeting his questioning eyes. When the headmaster stopped, Harry saw that they were in the living room from the previous day and he was dropped down unto the couch, the two men summoning chairs to them so that Harry was facing them both.

"I screwed up," he sighed softly, dropping his head as he felt the tears well up. They hadn't been pleased with his work and had brought him here for chastisement, or worse to send him away. "I'm sorry," he apologized, through a suddenly choked throat, as the first tear fell. "I can do better, I promise!"

"Hush Potter."

The two words were simple yet commanding, laced with a hint of something that Harry could not quite identify.

"Sir?" he managed, looking up at the potions master who had a slightly strained look on his face. Moving across from him, he saw worry stamped all over the headmaster's expression. "Headmaster?"

But it was Snape who spoke next. "Potter, please repeat your statement. What did you tell me when I asked about the place setting?"

"Freaks do not eat at the table sir?"

Harry cringed as the man's expression darkened, his hands tightening into fists. Besides him, the headmaster was suddenly feeling everyone of his years as he slumped into his chair, once again wondering what fate he had left the boy to.

"You think that you are a freak Potter?"

"I know sir," he responded swiftly, and without being asked, proceeded to recant his near mantra. "A freak knows his place sir, and it is to serve. A freak must not contaminate those around him, a freak must stay away until needed. A freak works, atoning for his unnaturalness. I am a freak sir," he concluded, "I know my place."

The silence that followed was palpable. Harry sat still, his gazes wandering between the two men as he pondered their reactions. The headmaster looked ashen, several times opening and closing his mouth, but unable to say anything. The twinkle in his eyes was severely muted, Harry saw with concern. Professor Snape on the other hand, looked angrier than Harry had ever seen him and he tensed praying that that anger was not directed at him. He was livid, his harsh breathing clearly audible from his seat. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the man spoke his tone barely audible but laced with anger.

"Albus, these – creatures are deceased no?"

"They are indeed," the headmaster replied. Was that remorse in his tone?

"Merlin be thanked then," the potions master said, his eyes glinted. "For else I would soon be bosom-buddy with a dementor."

Although the implications was lost on him, Dumbledore clearly saw the reference for his eyes shifted to the potions master. "Perhaps a calming potion Severus," he offered.

"A bottle of whiskey more like it," he scoffed, before relenting in the face of wide emerald eyes.

Were the relatives alcoholics as well, he wondered and if they were, he was resigned to bidding a not so fond farewell to the liqueur cabinet. It was too much to deal with at the moment, Severus thought. Neither he nor Albus were in any condition for a stable conversation, and Potter seemed none-the-wiser. For the moment what was necessary was not the talk with Potter, at least not until they were in a better frame of mind. They all needed a breather, even Potter, who, finally sensing something was wrong was withdrawing, sinking further back into his seat.

"Potter?" he called, after he felt he could manage a steady voice.

"Sir?"

"Go into the kitchen and prepare a tray for one. Along with it, set a glass of milk or juice and water. Bring it here in five minutes."

Eagerly the boy hopped up, no doubt glad to be useful Severus thought with disdain. "Only one sir?"

"One," he confirmed and within seconds the room was clear.

"Severus, what was the point of that?" the headmaster asked in a small voice, leaning his head back against the chair as if he lacked the strength to hold it up.

"Neither of us are ready to talk," he said, straining to keep his voice level. Potter would be back soon after all. "It's clear that the boy had no plans of eating. We need to calm down before we even hope to converse with him. I will send him up once I am certain his plate is adequately set and afterwards we will talk."

"Good thinking," Albus sighed, closing his eyes.

How he was glad for the man's presence. Currently all he wished to do was find a place and weep at the image the boy held for himself. All this time he had believed that it was Dawlin at fault, only to learn that the boy had thought himself worthless for years. It all made so much more sense now and it was a disturbing thought.

"You can't change the past old man," Severus pointed out, correctly gleaning his thoughts. "No use beating yourself up. Look to a brighter future instead."

"Indeed my boy," Albus sighed, "but it will take so much."

"He will learn," he said with surety, but before he was able to speak further, Harry was returning, bearing the tray.

"Let me see it," Snape said instead, his tone automatically dropping into a mildly authorial one. The boy hastened to obey and Severus nodded in satisfaction. "Good job Potter," he praised, eyes darkening at the obvious joy on the child's face. He would have to be more generous with his words, he told himself even as he growled at the fact that the boy would gain joy out of something so trivial.

"Where do you want it sir?"

"In your room," he replied, leaning back and taking a deep breath.

"Sir?"

"Harry," Albus interjected, staring at the confused child. "The tray is for you. Take it to your room, no, no objections my boy. Eat as much as you can manage. Is that understood?"

"I- sir- okay," the boy finished in a small voice, no doubt cowered by the double steer directed at him.

"As much as you can," Severus reiterated, "and finish the liquids."

"Yes sir," he nodded, an odd quality to his tone.

"Go on Harry," Albus encouraged. "Severus and I need to have a conversation now. Will you stay in your room until we fetch you?"

The boy was about to protest, the potions master could see that clearly and remembering the eleven year old's earlier words, he could guess well. Best nip that in the bud. "Potter?"

"Sir?"

"Once you are finished your meal, report to your playroom. The items are not yet arranged. You will place them as you desire. Should you finish that before we come up, I want you to start reading one of the books – any that catch your attention. Pay attention now for I will ask about the story."

The orders seemed to cheer the boy up considerably and for a moment Severus feared for the tray given the enthusiasm behind his nods.

"I will sir!" he beamed, bobbing his head. "Shall I go now?"

"Please do."

"Okay sir. Thank you for breakfast!"

With that the child turned and carefully left with the tray. The potions master head lolled back on the chair and a pained groan escaped his lips at the headmaster's next words.

"Severus, did he just thank us for a breakfast _he ___made?"

It was one of those days indeed.  



	8. Chapter 8

It had taken the men a little over an hour to compose themselves enough and settle on a practical manner of dealing with their new ward. The task certainly would have been easier if Harry actually had inkling that he had been mistreated in his young life. That would have allowed them to go about reassuring the child that his life with them would be different to that which he was accustomed. There would be no insults, no slaps; only love, affection and if necessary, reasonable discipline. And then, when undoubtedly Harry faltered into old habits, they would hold him near and offer him comfort until he finally trusted them, having faith in their words that he would never suffer under their care.

It was a scenario like that Severus had envisioned on those long nights when he contemplated on the incoming addition to their little 'family'. He had thought that Potter's situation would largely mirror his own childhood experiences. The man had comforted himself with the knowledge that the boy had just been afraid to talk to someone about his life, scared of the repercussions. Or perhaps he had attempted to explain his situation and either the adult had brushed aside his words, labelling him as an attention-seeker or more likely simply chose not to involve themselves in a matter that was not of any direct concern to them.

It was both sickening and frightening to him then, the behaviour Potter displayed on his first true day in the house. Looking at the boy in the kitchen, Severus could easily envision a frantic house elf in the place of the boy, one who was ready to press its hands into a steaming skillet in retribution for a seeming folly with the obviously diligently prepared meal. Except this was not an elf he was staring at while his stomach roiled. This was a child raised to believe he was little more than a servant, one that Severus desperately thought, as they mounted the stairs to Harry's room, that would learn the lesson and not confirm his fears by descending into the horrified wails of an elf threatened with inactivity.

*

Harry usually prided himself on his capability to obey. After all, it was that carefully cultivated nature of his that saved him from numerous (admittedly deserved) beatings at the hands of his relatives for daring to fail an issued directive. However, the eleven year old stood wearing a scowl as he surveyed his playroom. Surely, what had been asked of him was meant to be disobeyed, because they certainly could not expect him to pack away the room without first giving it a thorough cleaning, could they? The room fairly screamed for a cleansing touch. While the average person would see no issue with the faint trails of dust, Harry's experienced eyes caught it, and to him, it was a challenge to prove his suitability for the Dumbledore-Snape household.

With that in mind, Harry convinced himself that like his Uncle, the professors did not vocalise all of their desires for him and depended on his judgement to twist the orders enough to produce the best results. And thus, despite the twinge of disgust he felt as he transfigured himself a passable set of cleaning utensils, Harry found comfort in the fact that once the room gleamed, he would be praised for his usefulness. With a determined nod, the eleven year old got to work.

Moving heavy items was well within Harry's normal capabilities, but it appeared that his year in Hogwarts had left him weaker than expected and thus he found himself winded by the time he managed to drag a large heavy trunk across the room where it would be least cumbersome. The twinge of pain he felt as he straightened was welcomed. It was a good pain; the kind associated with hard work that proved his worth. A small smile graced his lips at the thought as he got down to work, scrubbing first at the deep interior of the trunk, before moving outwards. It was a testament to his skills when a dull gleam shone from the wood when he finally stepped away, shaking his hands lightly to relief the mild ache. He really was out of practice he frowned.

Deciding to tackle the room in parts, Harry divided all of the toys into types, shapes and sizes before deciding on their eventual locations. Finally done, he grabbed the pile best suited for the trunk and deposited it near the storage area, carefully wiping each item before neatly dropping it in, making a mental note that a thorough cleaning of the trunk every three to four days would be best in order to keep the trunk from smelling musty with time.

Satisfied with the arrangement, Harry continued his chore, the rhythmic nature of it lulling him into a peaceful state and by the time he got to wiping the shelves, he was singing in a barely audible voice, glad that he was finally in his comfort zone. Pausing to wipe away a bit of sweat, Harry deemed the area clean enough and stacked the remainder of the toys and books systematically, in order of size, then colour and shape. The actions were done with detachment. Despite the adults' words the day before, it had not yet completely registered to the eleven year old that the toys were for him. He wasn't allowed toys, only to put them away for his cousin or dispose of them when he had broken them beyond the possibility of repair. He barely gave any of the items anything more than a clinical overview. He had the remainder of the room to deal with after all.

What else needed to be done? No sign of cobwebs, the floor didn't particularly need mopping – but that rug certainly held a few dust grains! A good shake would set that to rights and the window was large enough to facilitate the task. Both panels could be opened, giving him ample room, the problem was that he was lacking the height needed to thump the rug properly against the side of the wall, and there was no way he was going to do the task half-heartedly! Well, he was nothing if creative in such a situation and he supposed that if he was careful enough, the rocking chair in the corner could be suitable. He just would have to remember not to make any unnecessary movements.

Unfortunately the rocking chair was not wide enough to allow him to kneel and shake and so, with a grumble at the necessity, he carefully balanced himself as he stretched as far out of the window are he dared to and began his task, slapping the rug against the wall, clumsily at first but then with an increased rhythm as he grew comfortable. Engrossed in his task, the knocking on the door did not register to him, nor the click of it opening.

However, the startled shouts he heard was clearly audible and caught off-guard, Harry flinched at the unexpected sounds, barely retaining his grip on the rug, determined not to let it fall to the grass below. With time he would learn to organise his priorities, for in his determination to save the rug, Harry's footing on his perilous perch faltered and a cry passed his lips, as he, now without a steady footing, catapulted forward.

Squeezing his eyes closed tightly, the boy waited for the feeling of being air-born, but instead felt a clamp settle on the small of his back, holding him in place shortly before he was grasped securely. Twisting around, Harry could see nothing holding his back but as for the hold on his legs, it was the potions master, paler than usual as his wide black eyes met his for a second before he reached out, releasing one of his left to grasp the back of his shirt and haul him up back into the safety of his room.

The breathlessness Harry now experienced was less from the harrowing experience than the expressions the adults now bore. The headmaster's wand was drawn and only now was he slowly lowering it. That probably accounted the pressure he felt, he noted absently even as he swallowed compulsively. Professor Snape's hold on him was firm, his hands now resting on his shoulders where they squeezed occasionally. Daring to glance upwards, Harry barely restrained a whimper at the blatant anger on the man's face, something he seemed to be struggling to contain the way his face was drawn.

Harry stiffened instinctively and his fingers clutched tighter at the rug, the cause of all this as he wondered just what was going to happen to him. Surely, no less than a whipping was in order for the boy who had needlessly bothered his guardians. He mentally sighed at the thought but accepted it, keeping his head lowered in a show of meekness. He would not argue or protest against whatever they planned for him. It was deserved.

Abruptly the grip on his shoulders lessened and faster than he could phantom, his professor was out of the room, mumbling something about an extra-strength potion. His departure seemed to draw the headmaster from his stupor as the man hurried forward, his voice shaky as he dropped to his knees before him and grasp him by his upper arms, his wand now absent. In one fluid movement, Harry was pulled forward into a tight embrace from the man. He stood stiffly in it, stunned by the unexpected move. Quite frankly he thought the wizard had wanted easier access to his face for a undoubtedly deserved slap, but instead, here was the man carding his hand through his hair and now pulling back to watch him with concerned eyes.

"What exactly were you trying to do child?" Albus demanded as he gave him a slight shake.

"I would like to know the answer myself Albus," the potions master stated in an oddly calm voice as he re-entered the room. He moved to one of the beanbags the room contained, giving it a faint look of disdain as he changed it into a straight-back chair, and dragged it near them, flicking a hand to it as he fetched the rocking chair and another beanbag.

By this time, the headmaster had straightened and gently shoved the eleven-year-old back so that he dropped onto the beanbag, finally releasing the rug that had been the cause of his difficulty. Harry wiggled against the beanbag, nipping his lip as he watched the adults settle themselves.

"Answer my question Harry," the headmaster bid. "What were you trying to accomplish?"

The mild tone laced with faint disapproval made Harry's heart skipped a beat as he composed himself enough to respond. "The rug needed to be dusted sir..."

"And that has what to do with you dangling out the window?" the potions master interjected, his tone still unnaturally calm. Looking at him, Harry saw that his eyes were slightly glassy.

"It's the easiest way to dust it," he pointed out.

"Harry you were on a rocking chair," the headmaster chided, his eyes flashing with remembrance. "It would have only taken one tip and you would have – "

"Popped you neck," Severus finished, drumming his fingers lightly against his leg.

"I was careful-"

"Just what were your instructions Mr. Potter?" he interrupted, a shadow of his earlier anger showing before it disappeared from his expression.

"Place the items away sir," Harry replied, his stammer increasing considerably.

"And?" Albus added.

"Read." Harry clenched his hands together as guilt and fear washed through him. His professors didn't expect him to work like his relatives had? He had been wrong to assume that they meant for him to do more than what had been said?

"Why didn't you Harry?"

"I-I"

"Were the instructions not clear Potter?"

"No sir," he finally managed, struggling against his sudden urge to cry. "I- the room was meant to be cleaned – I thought so. It always is that way. I didn't want you to be mad so I was cleaning. I finished with the trunk and shelves and I knew a half-clean room would not be acceptable so I went on to the rest of it."

With his head bent, Harry missed the silent conversation the men shared, unknowingly driving them into the topic they had come initially to discuss.

"Potter, whose rules were you following when you went about this little...misadventure?"

The odd question drew Harry from the depths of his depression and curiosity peaked, he looked at his professor.

"My relatives?" he settled on after a moment's thoughts. He was just acting like he had for years, and since his behaviours was learnt under their care, that was the answer. He seemed to please the man for he nodded approvingly.

"And why were their orders to be obeyed?"

That one was easy. "They were in charge of me. To show my appreciation for their kindness in – "

"That will do Harry," Albus interjected, sparing himself and Severus from details that would only increase the anger they still harboured for the now deceased Dursleys. "Can you answer directly for us?"

"Sir?"

"Do not elaborate unless we tell you," Severus repeated, altering the wording. It clicked with the boy who nodded in understanding. No unnecessary details, he would remember that.

"This only applies to this conversation," Albus hastened to add, nipping that thought in the bud.

"Yes sirs."

"Good boy Harry," the headmaster praised him, a mild assurance. "So you've confirmed that you were following your relatives' rules and the reasons for obeying them yes?"

"Yes sir."

"Then, following that train of thought," he said slowly so there was no chance of confusion, "whose rules do you think you should obey now? Ours or your relatives?"

"Erm..." the question seemed simple on a surface level, but Harry understood the hidden nuances to it and analysed it carefully.

The logical response would be his new guardians; he was now in their care after all. But to obey them would be to potentially go against what he had learnt from his relatives. Already he was sleeping in a bed and wearing fitted clothes, more than what a freak deserved. His uncle, had he been alive would have flayed him for pretending to be normal but the potions master had said that he was not special. Whose rules was he to obey regarding who he was? And even if he went along with what his new keepers wanted, as he knew that he should do, if only to save himself from a tense situation like this, his relatives' teachings would remain with him would they not?

For his relatives had raised him, taught him all he needed to know to function without overtly highlighting his freakiness. And didn't people always keep in mind what they learnt? Even if he obeyed his professors, he would still be a freak, in a new role, but a freak nonetheless. That would not change even if he obeyed new rules and tried to behave as his new guardians wanted. He would forever be this unnatural being, different actions would not change that.

"Yours sir. I should obey your rules. You are my caretakers now."

"Ten points to Gryffindor," Severus murmured as he relaxed against the chair slightly. The first hurdle was crossed.

The glance Albus sent the potions master was a fairly amused one before he returned to the issue at hand. "Good boy Harry. This means child, that you will do what we ask you to do, nothing more, nothing less. The breakfast you made child, while much appreciated, was not warranted."

"But-"

"Let me finish child," Albus bid, raising a stilling hand. "Harry, children do not make breakfast for the family, not at your age and certainly not for several more years. Meals are the responsibilities of the adults, you may of course aid if you wanted, but it would be a voluntary task."

"It's my job," Harry said weakly, staring at the man in disbelief.

"You do not have a 'job' Potter," Snape said abruptly and sternly, drawing all attention to him. "You are a prepubescent child living under a forced misconception that your purpose in life is to be subservient to the whims of others." When his statement garnered him nothing more than a confused blink from the boy he growled and reworded himself. "You eat, play, sleep, annoy me, do your homework and cuddle with Albus. That is all!"

"What Severus means Harry, is that we are responsible for you not the other way around. Child, you live with wizards now. The chores a muggle household requires largely do not exist for us. For example," he said, pulling out his wand, "if a wall needed painting, I would do this."

The man incanted something and Harry's eyes widened as the colour quickly changed into a bright green before returning to its original state. That sure was better than lugging around paint buckets! "Dusting can be done in seconds, the same goes for dishes. The sink is charmed. Anything placed in it will be automatically sanitised."

"Oh." Unwittingly, Harry wondered what would happened if he pressed his hands into the sink. Would it hurt?

"Do you understand Harry?"

"Huh?"

"What is expected of you child. You aren't a little house elf to be scampering around here cleaning."

"Then what am I to do?" he responded in a genuinely confused tone.

"Eat, sleep, play and annoy me."

"Severus," Albus chided. "We will plan a daily itinerary for you child, giving you suggested activities for the day."

"I didn't mention school work," Severus put in absently.

"Just how much calming draught did you drink Severus?"

"Not enough apparently. Your twinkle is as annoying as ever."

Not paying attention to the adults, Harry's mind raced around what he had been told. What they were asking of him was scarily similar to what Dudley did at home. What did that imply? That he was on the same level with Dudley? That couldn't be right, Dudley was the picture of normalcy, Harry had no right, no hope of ever mimicking his cousin's behaviour. He could not do it; it would be an insult, an injustice to the well-minded members of society! He had to correct them.

"Sirs, I can't!" he blurted out, his words meshing together in his haste but the meaning conveyed.

"What Potter?"

"I can't do that," Harry continued, his fists clenching in his agitation. "I can't, I can't. I'm not supposed to."

"Harry, my child," the headmaster said quickly. "You follow our rules-" His words faded into silence at the way Harry's head whipped from side to side furiously.

"I'm a freak, freaks don't do that. I can't act normal, I'm not, I'm not!"

"Harry!" the headmaster tried again, but by now Harry had grown too agitated, their expectations of him colliding with what he knew to be true. It was too much for him and his mind screamed for him to escape the situation the only way possible. It was a good thing for all that the beanbag was large enough to support him, as the child keeled over in a stress-induced faint.

"Well that went well," Severus said snidely as they settled Harry on his bed.

"Perhaps we should have gotten him a calming draught first?"

"Drank it all," the potions master said simply as he headed for the door.

"Sev-" the headmaster began but it was to the empty doorway as the black-haired was gone.

He could not really blame him, he knew as he dropped down, waiting for Harry to wake up. Severus had seen the same thing he had. Harry had not been at all fazed by his near-death experience. It was the thought that they would punish him which drained all colour from his face. He supposed that it had been too much for his professor given his past and so the man had overdosed. Albus sighed sadly as he eyed the door morosely. There were two people in this house with issues to deal with. Currently he could only pray that he would have what it took to help both of them.


	9. Chapter 9

Albus Dumbledore was feeling every one of his hundred plus years as he stared at the eleven-year-old boy sleeping in his bed. Sleeping was a better description for his conscious for in all actuality the boy was unconscious. Unconscious from the stress of being told that he was 'normal'. Most children hated to be considered such, wasn't it the desire of many to prove themselves to be extraordinary, a hero?

Children wanted to be aurors, healers or even the Minister of Magic; occupations that undoubtedly in their childish minds offered them wealth and glory. A regular child would pout at the thought of being normal – not special. And yet, the child whose chest rose slowly as he breathed was the complete opposite. He had grown faint at the thought of being normal. And why? He had been brought up in the belief that he was nothing but a freak.

As much as the headmaster had hoped that it had been an exaggeration on Harry's part, his belief a leftover from some unfortunate encounter, it was not so. He had dropped the child on the Dursley doorstep with naught but a letter, hoping that since he was family, they would care for him as their own. And what had they done instead? Raised a child with absolutely no self-esteem, who was afraid of disappointing his elders, but most importantly, thought that he was not entitled to the things that were every human being's right.

Just how many other lives had he ruined, Albus pondered darkly as his gaze drifted away. Despite Minerva's protests, he had left the boy there; it was for the greater good he had claimed. Harry would grow up normally, without being bombarded by those who would want to lift him on a pedestal. Harry James Potter, boy-who-lived was safer in the muggle world, away from the publicity that would do nothing more than take away his privacy and limit his chance at a normal childhood. Perhaps he would have been better off leaving the child with a pack of jackals. Certainly, animals could not have done so badly of a job raising a child.

More than that, Albus had more to feel guilty for. When Severus had hoisted Harry and carried him here into his bedroom, the man commented that the boy was far too light. It was something that the relatively bulky uniform hid well, he added and that was something Albus could agree with. Although more than once Albus had offhandedly commented on how smaller than his peers Harry was, in reality, his statements had been based primarily off his height. The boy was a good head shorter than the other male students were; a fact that put him low down on the size list, even among the female first years.

But then, he had comforted himself, James had been a late developer, average height for his first few years before he had started shooting up around third year so. His eventual wife, the then Lily Evans had been much the same. She had only been a few inches shorter than her husband upon their deaths, and perhaps, he had reasoned, her genes were an influence on Harry. Consequently, it was understandable why he dismissed Harry's shorter than normal height, however, his weight was another matter and the guilt of it burdened him greatly. Even if he had dismissed his height, how was it that he had not noticed that Harry was more than a little underweight? How could he have been so blinded?

It was not as if he were like Severus, until now not seeing the boy in anything other than his school uniform. He, Albus, had put the boy to bed numerous times, had helped him out of his shirt that first time to check on his injuries. How could he not have noticed that Harry's ribs were a little too visible, his limbs too stick-like? What was his excuse? Was it now that he knew about Harry's past? Was it the knowledge that made him look at him through new eyes, every sign of neglect forced upon the boy now glaringly obvious?

He thought it was that, and blamed his previous lack of insight on being busy throughout the term and the fact that Harry had never said anything. Yes he had on occasion mildly rebuked the boy when he seemingly played with his food instead of eating it. How could he have known, in between catching up on documents, that years of too little food had shrunk the boy's stomach so that he could only eat tiny amounts and that nothing too rich agreed with him?

Harry's breakfast tray, that Severus had taken once he had left was disturbingly full and Albus cringed as he realised it was usually so. Anything with too much fat content had been ignored. A slice of toast and a bit of boiled egg had been consumed, along with half the juice. None of the sausages or potatoes had been touched. He had always thought that Harry was a picky eater, now he realised that Harry instinctively knew which foods his stomach could tolerate. His ward was malnourished, and not even the months away from the Dursleys had done little to change that.

At Hogwarts Harry ate sparingly, no doubt thinking that freaks should not indulge in such good food. Or it could even possibly be that Harry was smart enough to realise that after three terms indulging in such diverse foods, his body would go hay-wire when he returned to his relatives and so, as much as possible he had ate the required portions. Whatever it was, Harry's body obviously was lacking critical nutrients. He had little doubt that Severus was already working on rectifying that problem.

Brewing was always a coping method for his potions master. Whenever upset it was not uncommon to find the dark haired man locked in his laboratory, no fewer than five cauldrons brewing as he took out his frustrations on his work. Albus had long since learnt that the more volatile or dangerous the potions being brewed, the worst was Severus' mood. The younger wizard had even snapped out instructions to him as he left the room, all but ordering him to get the child talking if it was the last thing he ever did. He was to do it no matter the method, magical or otherwise. It was obvious what the man was telling him to do and the more he thought about it, the more feasible Albus found the method to be.

Legilimency would give him easy access to his mind, where he could witness first hand what the eleven year old had been through. Severus had been lightly skimming Harry's surface thoughts back in the playroom, trying to determine whether he truly had been trying to dust and not gotten some silly notion of escaping through the window in his mind. Tersely as he had held him, the potions master had grated out that they might as well have spoken to a block of wood for the good that it had done. Harry did not believe them. Yes he would listen to their instructions like the good little house-elf he had been taught to be, but he did notbelieve them and that was the crux of the matter.

Until Harry trusted in what they told him, any actions would be meaningless. Unless convinced otherwise, he would continue on thinking himself an unworthy freak. Talking was obviously useless he had told his employer. They had to makehim believe, forcibly if necessary. That last thought had drawn a protest from Albus. Surely, the last thing Harry needed was to be forced upon everything else. It was the only way, Severus countered. The hold the muggles held on Harry's mentality was not one easily broken. As he had told the man, it had taken them most of his life to build up those beliefs in Harry. If they tried to talk him out of it, it could take the equivalent time. A time they did not have if they wanted the boy to have a chance of a normal life.

*

"Come in," Severus said shortly, not bothering to look up as his laboratory door opened. Continuing his stirring, he listened with half and ear as Albus shuffled around the room before eventually collapsing heavily onto a stool a little distance away. The heartfelt sigh that emerged seconds later was answer enough for the question Severus no longer needed to ask. "Are you willing to use magic now?" he asked instead, as he added the shredded bat wings.

"Yes," came the despondent reply as Albus worked his hand tiredly through his beard. "Talking to him was useless as you said it would be. He ended up curling himself into a ball and whimpering for me to stop trying to get him into trouble. Apparently, Dursley did something similar, punishing him when he admitted to being anything other than a freak. I gave up and cast a sleeping charm on him.

"You were right Severus," he continued with another sound of sadness, "What those people did to him is too deeply ingrained. I would suggest a healer, but I think their findings would be the same and the last thing we need is for word of this to get out to the public. Harry doesn't need that upon everything else he already has to deal with in his young life."

Severus continued to stir, counting absently so that he did not miss the counter-clockwise stir needed for every nine clockwise ones. "Which will it be then?" he inquired neutrally. The decision was ultimately the headmaster's he knew. After all, he was legally the boy's guardian no matter the fact that he was all but helpless in the current situation. "Legilimency or selective obliviation of his memories?"

"I'm not sure."

"Well make up your mind," the potions master snapped, turning to give him a quick glare. "This isn't some law to be amended. This is a child who has already been dealt a hard blow in life. Every second you delay is a second he could be learning the good things life has to offer."

"And what would you do in my place Severus?" the headmaster asked in a small voice, the implications of the man's words ringing in his ears. If Harry had been dealt a harsh blow, he was the only one who could be blamed for it.

The unexpected question almost caused Severus to miss a crucial stir in his shock before a grim look darkened his face, one that only the now lavender potion saw. He did not speak for several minutes, instead silently moving to his shelves where he gathered several dozen sanitised vials that he painstakingly arranged in neat rows. "You know my choice," he said eventually, in a quiet voice that carried across the room.

And know it the man did. Were it Severus' choice, he would choose the latter option and more or less obliviate the memories that caused the boy's problems. Doing so would shake the hold the Dursley's lessons had on the boy, making it easier to dissuade him from the notion that he was a freak and worthless. Traumatic experiences often scarred for life, he knew that first hand, and would always have a lingering effect on the person who suffered them. Without those memories, Harry would question his belief in the Dursley doctrines, something that they wanted him to do.

Indeed, if Severus were honest with himself, he would admit that his choice was mainly because it was what he would have wanted to be done to him in his younger years. Who knew what his life would have been if someone had offered to remove every ounce of his childhood experiences from him? Certainly he would not have brushed all muggles with the same brush and label them all as barbaric and inferior to those who possessed magic. Definitely, he would not have bought into the Dark Lord's promises, only to turn spy on the man when he realised that his loyalty to him placed him squarely opposite to the one and only person he would ever admit to loving – Lily Evans.

Maybe without the reminders of what Tobias Snape had done to him, he would have actually made something of his life. What good was being Britain's youngest potions master if he was stuck in the Dungeons of Hogwarts teaching for twenty years, all but losing his dreams of the apothecary he had wanted to open? Where would he have been without his youth? In the short time he had learnt of Harry's situation, he had been determined that another would not share his sad faith. Yes, Severus knew what he would choose. Were it up to him, Harry James Potter would wake the next morning with no memories of his former family. Undoubtedly, he would be confused, and probably suffer from bouts of deja vu, but in his opinion, the benefits made it worth the drawbacks.

That was exactly why the decision did not rest with him.

Somewhere in between his musings, he had labelled the vials and filled half of them. He would have continued his automatic movements, if the headmaster had not brought him out of his reverie.

"I have decided," Albus said gravely, in a tone that immediately put Severus on edge. Somehow he knew he would not like what was about to come.

"Which is it?" he asked neutrally, as he set a filled vial on its rack.

"Neither."

"What?" he blurted out, losing his mask as he spun to look at the man. "What in Merlin's name do you mean 'neither' old man?"

"Allow me to explain," the wizard requested, lifting a stilling hand to hold off any further remarks. "The first option is sketchy at best. Seeing Harry's memories will have little benefit. Even if while viewing it I was to add commentary, pointing out the holes in the Dursley logic, there is nothing to stop Harry from countering it or disregarding it completely. We need to do more than plant a seed of doubt in his mind. For this reason, I crossed out the first option.

"My objections to obliviating it is simple. It is permanent and for that, I do not consent to using it on Harry. I do not think we have any right to decide what Harry is allowed to know of his past. No matter how much it pains me, the abuse is a part of Harry, and all of life's experiences have their uses. I will not willingly deny Harry his past, no matter how beneficial, but, on the other hand, I agree that for now, they are causing him only harm.

"What I plan to do is this. I will use legilimency to help organise his mind. Drawing all the memories I deem the most damaging together will make it easy enough for me to pensieve. I find this the best option. Harry will not be burdened by them, but with time when I feel he is ready I can help him reclaim his past. I hope you understand my decision Sev-PROTEGO!"

The shielding charm was raised without a moment to spare as Severus flung the entire tray of bottled vials at the headmaster, a look of pure rage on his face. Albus rose immediately, his wand at the ready in case of a further attack. He had known that Severus would be displeased by his decision, but he had not foreseen the man physically showing that displeasure.

"Severus my boy," he began in a soothing tone, "it is for the best. You will see with time."

"Shut up!" Snape yelled, his body shaking with rage. "For the best? For the best for whom? You? Why the hell would you want to do that Albus," he raged. "You saw what pensieving memories did to me, and you would do that to him? Don't look at me that way you old coot! You said it yourself! You plan to return those memories to him some day! And then what? Hope he reacts better than I did? You are a blasted idiot Albus Too Many Names Dumbledore. I thought you wanted to help him?"

"My boy, I am helping him..."

"By ripping apart the carefully planned future you have set up for him?" Severus countered, his nostrils flaring with his rage. "No good could come of it. Either leave him with his memories now or remove them forever. There is no in between. Learn from your mistakes you damn old fool!"

"Severus!" Albus called out, over the man's shouting. "Please be reasonable. Surely you are looking at things the wrong way. Did you not find it easier to deal with your past after experiencing life without the mem-"

"SHUT UP!" the potions master screeched, in a voice that echoed around the room. "You think you helped me that day headmaster? You did not. You just destroyed the meagre happiness I found in my life. Merlin hear my words now Albus Dumbledore, if you choose to pensieve those memories, you best throw it into the ocean when you are through. Do not let Harry get his hands on them ever again, or he may very well hate you as much as I do!"

"You do not hate me," he said with surety.

"Like hell I don't!" Snape bit out before he whirled on his heels and stormed out of his potions laboratory, leaving Albus alone in a suddenly to quiet room.

*

_"You wanted me Albus?" Severus Snape asked curiously as he walked into the man's office, dropping easily into an armchair while Fawkes flew to land on his knee. With a small smile on his face, the newly instilled potions master stroked the phoenix's feathers in a way that had the magical creature trilling happily; its contented song filling the room._

_"Indeed I did my boy," the headmaster said as he rose from his desk, giving him a fond look._

_Living with the headmaster was no where near the burden he had first expected it to be. Once they had gotten over the original awkwardness, things had settled down. Living with one's headmaster turned warden/guardian had been uncomfortable at first. For the first few days or so he had been unable to call the man anything other than his Hogwarts' title for him and tiptoed around the powerful wizard, bristling when the man commented on his Hufflepuff-like behaviour, but unable to help it. He owed so much to the man who had saved him from Azkaban._

_And then their relationship settled as the men found a routine. Albus willingly installed a potions laboratory for his new charge and had a greenhouse added so that he could grow his own ingredients after months of complaints about the inferior supplies that were being delivered. The men appreciated that they each needed their own personal spaces. Severus toned down his naturally satirical nature and Albus learnt not to be as affectionate as was his want to do. A mid-twenty year old *did not* appreciate being hugged no matter the occasion. Yes, despite Severus' hesitancy to agree with the man's offer originally, he was glad he had taken it._

_Except, now and then he noticed some things, things that left him confused. Just why was it that he felt pangs of pain in his heart occasionally, especially when Albus shot him a smile or ruffled his hair as he passed him. Why was it that he found himself wishing it had been like this in his younger days – days he could not recall for some odd reason. His memories were incomplete, his skills in the mind arts revealed that to him the moment he really checked for them, but he put it down to Voldemort. Too much crucios was bound to have had a permanent effect on him he decided. However, it still did not completely explain it, and so he had gone to the headmaster – the first person in a long while that he trusted._

_Albus had been most reassuring, reminding him that after all his experiences with the dark arts, something like this had to be expected. Or even, during his interrogations at the ministry, some over-eager auror had gone a little to far in his legilimency and that explained the blanks. And Severus believed the man, he had no reason not to do so after all? The headmaster was a good man, the greatest wizard of his time, if he said it was so, then who was he to doubt him?_

_How wrong he had been proven. For not ten minutes after he had entered that office did reality hit him. Albus had done it oh so innocently, telling him that he had been safeguarding something for him and thought it was time he reclaim them. What the item was was obvious; he had seen it before. What confused him was that Albus claimed that the memories in it were *his*. The man had lied to him? He stared suspiciously at the old man he had grown fond of in the last year or so of him living with him. Did Albus really know more than he had admitted to all those times he had come to him for answers? Indeed he did._

_One hour later, it was an enraged Severus Snape who emerged from the pensieve with his memories reclaimed, glad that he had not thought to walk with his wand lest he really earn himself a stay in Azkaban. His life had been a complete lie! He had been walking around in a delusion and it was all the fault of the man looking at him with an odd expression. How dare he- the blasted man had manipulated him! For the past year! Severus felt sick to his stomach and without a word he stormed from the office, ignoring the man's calls and the phoenix's anxious trills._

_How dare the man do that to him? Alb- Dumbledore, he corrected angrily, had removed every remotely harmful memory from his mind and with it, he shattered the illusion the man had been living under. For the past year he had lived without the memories of the whippings and starvation he had undergone in his childhood, had been spared the nightmares in which he still felt his father's alcohol scented breath fanning his face before the man laid into him for being magical – unnatural. He had been spared the memories of his hands at the bullies of Hogwarts – the bullies Dumbledore protected from punishment._

_His memories of his decision to join Voldemort had been lost as well. The day he had seen his one true love Lily Potter snogging his arch-rival in the alcoves, not a good week after he had called her mudblood in anger had been the breaking point for him, and he had willingly joined the Dark Side, not knowing then that Lily, previously neutral would join Potter's campaign on the Light side and thus make herself noticeable to the Dark Lord. Dumbledore had taken it all from him, the worst of the torture sessions he had participated in, the persons he had killed, the prophecy he had delivered to the Dark Lord that damned Lily._

_But that was not what Severus hated the most. No, what had hurt him was the fact that Dumbledore had given them back. Without the knowledge, Severus' life had been relatively comfortable. He was convicted as a Death Eater, but his spying for the Light (once he realised that Lily was on the Dark Lord's hit list) had given him a chance for redemption extended to few others. The extent of his crimes had been lost. True he had wondered why he was given such a long sentence if he was only a spy, but Albus had reassured him that it was for the best. But now, now he knew the truth. Twenty years was a paltry sum for his past actions, had he been the judge, he would have made sure he never saw the light of day again._

_Why had the headmaster done it? What reasons did he have to take the memories from him? Did he think he would be better of without them? If he did, Severus would have understood it, for even now the pain he felt was more than he ever thought possible. Were that the reason, he would have thanked the man, but he was confused. Why did he give him back the memories? Why had he been so cruel to give him a new lease on life, one without the pain and torment of a terrible past, only to throw it back in his face, reminding him off how unworthy of his new existence he was. ___

"You're a damn fool, Albus Dumbledore," Severus muttered, as he lay on his bed, an arm over his eyes as the memories of that day assaulted him. 

Oh Albus had tried to explain his reasons to him a few days later when he could watch the man without feeling the urge to hex him. His reasons for removing the memories had been what Severus had guessed; it was his rationale for returning them that was senseless. Albus had given him the same cock and bull story he had related earlier in relation to Potter. That the past moulded the future and it was an injustice to deny him that. Bullshit, he snarled. 

He had been better off without those memories, even now, years later he still held that belief, hence his earlier whimsical thoughts of being obliviated. Albus had given him a taste of a normal life, one without the emotional and mental baggage he had possessed, only to dump it back on him later on when he believed it time for him to remember. That act had nearly destroyed him, and the faith he had built up in the headmaster had all but been lost. He had hated the man in those few subsequent months, and the harmony they had developed was completely eroded. Even Fawkes had felt his ire, his relationship with the phoenix semi-cordial at best. His relations with the headmaster – until Potter showed up they had been back on strictly business terms. They were just two individuals who happened to reside together and would for a good few years again. The tentative truce they had made after Harry arrived had all been eroded with the man's words in the potions laboratory, Severus thought, and would be completely if he went through that plan and kept the memories. 

Pensieving them, he could tolerate, but storing them was another story. What was the point? Potter was young enough that he would not miss them the way he had, especially if the headmaster was more refined in his techniques and removed only a few. Children naturally forgot things, and anything that seemingly did not add up, Harry would brush off and move on. He wouldn't be an adult who would nitpick over it. So what was the point? He could not see it. Keeping those memories would only cause Potter harm in the long run when he recovered them. 

"No good will come of this," he grumbled as he turned on his side away from the door eventually falling into a fitful sleep that cooled his anger.

*

Albus stood awkwardly outside of Severus' bedroom door. It was nearly eight in the night and the man had yet to emerge. He had to admit, he was concerned. Severus had never been so angry in a long time, and he wanted to ensure the man was right, and tell him about what he had done. He had done some long and hard thinking after his employee had left. The pure emotion in the man's tone had not been lost on him. Underneath the anger had been so much more feelings, raw pain that Albus had not understood years before and still did not understand now.

Severus Snape was not an emotional man. For him to react as he had done only highlighted how deeply he felt about the situation and had shown him that he was potentially repeating an action that could very well be a mistake. He could not help but think, in those few minutes he had stood before Harry with his wand drawn about the person Severus had been in the year or so he had withheld his memories. He had not been so far from when the man could envision Harry as being at that age. And all of that had been shattered the second he had returned his memories to him.

The look of pure hatred on Severus' face, one that had shocked him to the core had forever etched itself in his mind, and as he stood above the eleven year old, he worried if he was about to do the same with him. It was that question that helped him reach his final decision, and before he could change his mind, he jabbed his wand against Harry's temple, the act waking the boy so that their eyes met, allowing Albus to rummage through his mind for the right memories that needed removing.

Harry had fell asleep once more after the process and after spelling a nutrient potion to him that would compensate for the meals he had missed in the day, Albus had left, carrying the pensieve with him to his office, where he sat, staring at it for hours before he decided on its eventual fate.

This led him to him standing here, outside the potions master's bedroom.

He knocked, and after the third succession, Severus' cool voice bid him to enter. He was rather pleased that the man was no longer angry; indeed the indifferent mask the man wore was pleasing. That mask meant that he was in a considerable better mood and perhaps they could talk. Grasping at that hope Albus dropped down on the edge of the bed, watching as the man reluctantly closed the tome he had been reading before eyeing him, silently ordering him to get on with it, whatever it was that he came to say.

"I fear that I put you in an uncomfortable position today Severus," he said softly, noticing when the man's fingers tightened against the tome at his words. "I owe you an apology for that. I am an old man Severus, one prone to error as you so graciously pointed out."

Severus' only response was a noncommittal grunt.

"Yes I know that words cannot make up for what I have done to both you and Harry my boy. My only defence is that I honestly believed my actions to be right. Once again, I must thank you for your intervention, no matter how loud or bluntly delivered it was."

The minutes ticked by before finally Severus sighed, flinging the book aside. "I can't forgive you for what you did to me," he said firmly, "nor do I think you deserve to know why. Your actions cannot be undone, so save the apology and don't screw Harry over as you have me." He say the wince his words caused but continued regardless. "We are human Albus, you need to acknowledge that andthink old man. We are not chess pieces you can move about without consequences. Your heart is in the right place, I grant you that, but in your desire to help, you often cause pain. I had no need of those memories old man, and neither will he once they are removed."

"It is something I have come to accept," Albus acknowledged. He had made many errors in his life. Really, was he one of those people who hurt the ones they cared about more than their enemies?

"You need to think ahead," Severus continued. "I can write an essay twenty feet long on all of your noble intentions and the consequences of you doing so, and that would only extend to me and Potter. You Gryffindors are all rash, acting first and dealing with the backlash afterwards. Merlin I hope to raise Harry in a way that that does not become his fate as well! I do not want to clean up your messes, and pensieving his memories would definitely be a mess I would have to deal with. I cannot change your mind, I am well aware of that. All I ask Albus is that you give me some warning before you decide to return those memories to him, be it in a week, month or decade."

"I can't do that I'm afraid," the headmaster said. "It is already too late."

"Too late?" Severus repeated.

"Yes," Albus confirmed. "I've already destroyed the pensieve Severus. The only copy left is what I recall from viewing them. One day, I will tell him of what I did this day, and should he request it, I will show them to him, but I will not force the choice on him as I did with you. I will try not to make the same mistakes with him," he finished softly, dropping a hand to the man's knee, the nearest thing the potions master would accept to a hug.

Severus said nothing for several seconds, hiding his surprise and happiness. Surprise that Albus had listened, really listened and not just dismissed what he had said, and happy, happy that Potter would have the chance he never did. The chance Albus had took from him. The opportunity to start over with an almost clean slate.

  



	10. Chapter 10

Go away, Harry grumbled mentally as someone persistently called to him. He was comfortable and warm, a feeling that had been sparse in his short life. Why would he want to leave that safe haven? Sleep was supposed to afford one peace, an escape from reality, if only for a few hours. That had never been the case for him. His nights were filled with the words of his relatives, their message permeating even in his unconsciousness, so that he dreamt not fields of flowers and flying birds but situations. Situations in which he failed to reach the standards expected of one of his status, failures that led to grim reminders of what his status meant. Plagued by such feelings in both the dreamscape and reality, was it any wonder why he was so timid, so tentative to make a move when it could lead to something unpleasant?

Yes, those were the nights Harry James Potter was accustomed to and so this warm, calm feeling as he lazed in the in-between between sleep and wakefulness was strange. There was not the sense of forbearing that he usually felt in those last moments before wakefulness. No, there was only a sense of security, one that somehow muted the feelings he was much more familiar with. This feeling, he had only encountered it a handful of times so far, and all had been on those occasions when he had been tucked away into the headmaster's guest-room and the man had stayed with him until he slept, something that Harry believed prevented those harsh feelings.

Was that why he felt like this, he thought, even as his hand batted lazily at the person shaking his shoulder gently, calling to him once again. Was his headmaster near, his overpowering presence chasing away anything negative? Somehow, Harry did not think so, for something was not completely right. Because, strange as it may seem, Harry could not quite remember why his nights usually were so restless, why it was that he was afraid of wakening. He felt as if he was missing something, a thing he could not easily define and thus left him confused. But now that bothersome touch on his shoulder had transferred to his cheek and he recognised now that his smooth skin was being gently stroked, and as he breathed in, there was a scent of lemon, a fragrance associated with only one man he knew.

Yawning slightly, Harry's thoughts finally pushed him into wakefulness and as he blinked blearily, he tried to focus on the blurry person above him, whose face was slowly drawing backwards. Something white was hanging in front of the person. "C'ss time sir?" he mumbled out, in between a yawn as he struggled to sit up, the covers dropping slowly to his waist.

As he rubbed at his eyes he heard the man's light chuckle. "You are still asleep my boy," he said softly, reaching over to ruffle his hair.

His hand was warm, Harry thought as leaned into the caress, almost mewling when the man cupped his cheek tenderly. He was so kind to him, he mused idly. "M'sleep?" he mumbled again when the man's words finally caught up with his sleep-addled brain.

Another laugh met his words. "Yes asleep my boy. For you seem to have forgotten that with school on vacation there is no class for you to be late for." As he spoke he set Harry's glasses on his face, and with his vision cleared Harry finally realised where he was and his eyes widened.

"Sir!" he gasped out, the drowsiness leaving him abruptly. "I overslept, I'm sorry. I'll start on breakfast right away!" Harry moved to hop off the bed but was stopped by the firm hand the headmaster placed on his shoulder.

"Breakfast has already been made my child, there is no need to rush."

"I-I'm sorry," Harry stammered, his eyes widening. "It won't happen again."

"Oversleeping?" Albus asked curiously. "Think nothing of it. Which child is not entitled an extra hour or two in the holidays?"

"I meant breakfast sir," Harry pointed out. "I was suppose to make breakfast."

A slight frown creased the older wizard's face and Harry bit his lip nervously as a hint of fear curled in his stomach as he instinctively hoped that he would not be slapped too hard for his impertinence. Wait, what? Harry blinked at the thought that ran through his mind. Just where had he gotten the idea that the headmaster would slap his face from? His aunt would do that, he acknowledged, she doled out slaps to him with as much enthusiasm as she did hugs for her son. However, the headmaster had never ever slapped him, so what had he to fear from the man?

"We talked about this yesterday," the headmaster was saying presently. "Cooking is not your job."

"I'm supposed to do it," Harry countered automatically, the words flowing from him before he could really register what he was saying. "Meals are my duty. All chores are my responsibility because...because..."

Harry trailed off into silence as a look of confusion crossed his face, not even noticing the slightly strange look the headmaster bore on his own. What had he been going to say, he mused and where had he heard those words before? It seemed like something he should know. After a moment of hard concentration, his deceased Uncle's face loomed into view and Harry's brow furrowed. Uncle Vernon would say something like that. But why was it that he had unconsciously stressed on the word duty? It seemed like there was an entirely profound meaning attached to the word when he had stated it, but what it was, he did not understand.

Everything that needed doing in the household was his responsibility. His days started often before the crack of dawn and ended after the last member of the household went to bed, no matter how late. It was the only way he could earn his keep after all. He was an extra burden forced upon their household. They had only planned for one child and of course it was not right that one of their own blood be denied because of him. Chores were one way of lessening the burden he placed upon them. He knew, understood and respected that. A family was a kind of team and every member had to contribute to keep the unit strong. The fact that he had to work a little harder was expected as he had never been factored in to the original plan.

"Why the grimace my child?" Albus asked seriously, drawing Harry away from his thoughts. The eleven year old blushed deeply, ashamed that he had kept the headmaster waiting while he had drifted off. "If you wish to sleep some more I will allow it."

"I'm fine sir," Harry said quickly, his voice soft but sure. It had taken some time, but he had grown used to be in such close proximity with the elder wizard. He was comfortable in the man's presence and felt safe. That was the primary reason that his stuttering was at a minimum at such times. "I just remembered something that's all. Is Professor Snape awake already?"

The headmaster did not seem fully reassured but nevertheless, he shook his head. "I have yet to check on him," he responded. "Both of my boys decided to sleep in today. Why don't you go ahead and freshen up? Breakfast will be waiting for you."

"I'm allowed breakfast?" Another unconscious statement, he mused, this time noticing the brief flash of some emotion in the professor's expression before it cleared. Just where were these words of his coming from? In the moments before the headmaster responded, his aunt's shrill voice raced through his mind as a random flash. Freaks don't eat boy! He stiffened, that tendril of fear from before rising up stronger than ever, but in a second, as the headmaster squeezed his shoulder lightly, it was gone.

"Of course you eat breakfast," he was informed. "Every meal is to be consumed understood? If you find yourself hungry between meals, all you have to do is ask and a snack will be prepared for you."

"Thank you sir," Harry smiled, surprising himself by launching forward so that he could squeeze the man's middle for several seconds. Although, as he walked into his bathroom, he wondered at just how grateful he had sounded.

Merlin, it was not as if he had been offered a pot of gold. It was just food! Well, he countered, as he showered quickly, his relatives were nitpicks and always harped about how much he ate. And it wasn't like he ate with them, no, that time was for standing in wait, ready to fetch whatever condiment or drink someone required. Sometimes what he eventually received barely amounted to scraps and his Uncle was always so quick to point out that it was more than he deserved.

Harry tousled his hair roughly with the towel, feeling completely invigorated after the warm bath. He cleaned his teeth with his usual thoroughness and rinsed, however, as he left the bathroom, he could not help but feel that he had forgotten something. He paused in the doorway and looked back. Shower, check. Loo, check. Teeth, check. So what was missing? In between dressing, he found himself absentmindedly walking back into the room, the niggling feeling there. The floor was slightly damp from where he had stepped out, but it wasn't like if he had flooded the place out. So therefore, that little tendril in the back of his mind, urging him to scrub the bathroom from top to bottom was unnecessary. Besides, it was a magical house, as the headmaster had told him. It cleaned itself.

Harry eyed the steps dubiously before he fairly flew down them. He trusted the headmaster, that much was true, but he was not completely sure he could put his faith in the house as of yet. He had had too many run-ins with Hogwarts' staircases that made him wary of the structures. As he walked towards the kitchen, he heard the headmaster's voice coming from beyond.

"Is the coffee to your liking? I would hate it if I made the coffee too weak for you Severus. I mean, I know how you hate mornings and I wouldn't want to make it any more miserable for you than necessary because you would hate it."

"Err...good morning," he said softly as he stood in the entryway, watching the men.

Dumbledore was moving around the kitchen easily, fiddling with things here and there even as he shot the odd glance at the potions master who seemed determined to ignore him if his rigidity was anything to go by. Bits and pieces of their banter the previous day came to mind and Harry wondered if this was another bout of it.

"Harry," the headmaster said with a twinkle in his eyes. "Come my boy, have a seat before breakfast gets cold. Severus would hate that I suppose."

"Yes sir," he replied as he took a seat, cocking his head at the wizard's words.

He was trying to insinuate something, he realised immediately. His primary school teacher used to do that when the class was taking too long to come up with the answer. Subtle or not so subtle hints until it clicked for someone. It wasn't directed at him, he saw immediately and mentally shrugged before he turned to the younger adult who was hidden behind the newspaper.

"Good morning Professor," he said shyly, hoping that he was not disturbing him. Uncle Vernon never wanted to hear a word before the paper was set aside. He wondered if the man was the same way. He really should have asked the headmaster how to interact with his teacher. Professor Snape was so strict whereas the headmaster was more easy-going and approachable. He was always on his guard around the dark-haired wizard, waiting for a rebuke for one thing or the other even when he was certain that he had done nothing wrong.

After a few seconds the newspaper was lowered slightly and the man's face came into view. The hair that usually hung around his face was pulled back into a low ponytail and somehow it made him seem less severe. But the man's eyes were as piercing as ever when they met his, and Harry found himself helpless to look away. It was as if his teacher was peering into his very being, a very unnerving feeling.

"Good morning Potter," he eventually said, raising the papers and consequently breaking Harry from his trance. "How are you feeling?"

"F-fine s-sir."

"Come now Severus," Dumbledore interjected as he claimed a seat. "We are all at the table now so the newspaper must go. You know how I hate that."

Harry cautiously shrank back as Snape shut the paper with a snap, and he could have sworn that the man growled even as he levelled the white haired man with a glare that he pointedly ignored as a wide smile creased his face.

"There we go!" he said cheerfully.

Harry's mouth dropped as the utensils on the table came alive and he could only stare in wonder as spoons dipped into the assortment of foods, ladling portions of everything on each plate. That certainly never happened at Hogwarts! He was immensely thankful that the spoons seemed to take him into consideration, as his portions were significantly smaller than what the adults received, but even so, he knew that it would be a struggle if they expected him to clear his plate.

"Dig in my boys," came the directive from the headmaster. "I would hate to see it go to waste."

"Hate is such a strong word headmaster," Harry said unwittingly before paling as all eyes turned on him. A flush darkened his checks and his eyes dropped. "S-sorry," he stammered, "I-I d-didn't m-mean t-to!"

"The shyness and stammering is innate?" Snape asked musingly, however judging by his tone it was clear that the question was directed more to himself than anyone else.

"I-I," Harry repeated. He had spoken out of turn. He knew better!

"Now, now my boy," Albus smiled easily, reaching out to pat his shoulder comfortingly. "You may talk freely. This is not a classroom."

"R-really?"

"Really," he repeated reassuringly. "Remember what we told you yesterday? Your relatives' rules do not apply here."

"I don't remember much," he revealed softly, not noticing the looks the men shot each other. "It seems – hazy."

"I wouldn't be surprised at that Potter," Snape said glibly as he picked up a fork. "You worked yourself into quite a state after your little adventure yesterday; we had no choice but to put you to bed, where you remained for the rest of the day."

"Oh," Harry said simply. That made sense. He remembered being frightened after being pulled back from the window. First because he thought he was in trouble and then...because of the scolding? He was not sure. Had he truly spent the remainder of the day, and night in bed? That was strange he thought, but the more he concentrated, the more other little snippets came to him. The headmaster telling him something, he denying it before he fell back asleep. What had that been about?

"Eat up my boy," the headmaster said, interrupting his musings. Once the man was satisfied that he was indeed chewing his eggs, he continued speaking. "As for what you said, I agree. Hate is such a strong word, one that should not be used loosely, right Severus? Such dreadful words can cause others pain."

"Hexes can have a similar effect," Snape said smoothly, a glint in his eyes that put Harry on alert. That look always meant trouble for whomever it was directed on. "Shall I do an illustration for Mr. Potter?"

"Now Severus," Albus tisked. "I am just saying that people should be careful about what they say lest they hurt another's feelings."

Was it his imagination, Harry thought, or had the headmaster just sniffed with an injured aire?

"Sometimes those feelings need hurting," he replied around a sip of coffee. "Along with other things."

"Surely you do not mean that my boy," the elder wizard frowned, his tone self-righteous. "Words said in the heat of the moment-"

"Are most often true."

By now, Harry's head was moving back and forth as he watched the impromptu sparring between the pair. It was oddly humorous, he decided as he nibbled on the end of his toast. Despite their words, neither seemed truly angry nor particularly annoyed and it was for that reason that he could relax and eat. The way they moved, rebutting each other's words smoothly, even as they chewed and sipped was a clear indicator that this was not an uncommon occurrence between them. Probably it was only the subject matter that changed.

"Not true!" Albus countered, waving a skewered sausage around for emphasis. "People usually say the opposite of what they mean in anger," he finished with a wicked smile.

"Old man, you best stop right there," Snape warned, "before I decide my potions need lemon drops."

"I wonder what the opposite of hate is," Albus continued, completely ignoring the man's last words (he had a secret stash even if Severus got to his main source after all). "Do you know what it is Harry?" he asked sweetly.

"Err..."

"Stay out of this Potter," the potions master snapped.

"Gladly," Harry thought as he finished half of his milk before setting it aside. He was full, despite the fact that barely half his plate had been cleared. He really was not accustomed to eating much, and those sausages were way too rich for him to stomach, no matter how delicious it tasted.

"Fine Severus, I will tell you myself," the headmaster said smugly. "The opposite of hate is love. So, if you tell someone you hate them in an argument, it means that you really don't mean it. Hence I have no choice to deduce that you lo-mph!"

"The silence is delightful is it not Potter?" Snape asked, as he pocketed his wand.

The headmaster's mouth was moving but no sound was coming out of it, Harry noted with astonishment. He was glaring too as he reached for his own wand, only to scowl when Snape waved it at him with a smug expression. "Breakfast is for eating not talking Albus. Surely, you with you advanced age should understand the concept by now. Nothing to say? Good. Your meal is growing cold."

Harry could have sworn that beneath all that hair, the headmaster pouted slightly, but it could have just been his imagination.

"Are you finished Mr. Potter?" Snape asked suddenly causing his head to snap up.

"Y-yes sir," he answered softly, wondering if he would be chastised.

The man stared at him plate with an unreadable expression in his eyes for several moments before he raised his black gaze. "Very well, you may take your things to the sink then."

"Yes sir."

"Good Mr. Potter, now come here."

A few seconds later, Harry was standing almost awkwardly by the man's side, resisting the urge to fidget when his chin was grasped so he had no choice but to meet his gaze.

"Let us not have a repeat of yesterday hmm? Better yet, let us remove the temptation. I want you to go to your playroom and choose any three things that catch your attention. In fifteen minutes, I want you to bring it here for inspection. Understood?"

"Yes sir."

"Off you go then," he said in dismissal and soon enough the kitchen was empty save the adults.

*

"Erm...I think this spot here," Harry said tentatively, pointing at a vaguely formed figure on a puzzle piece, "is a knight."

"A knight?" Snape repeated, nodding his head sage-like as if Harry had just pointed out a precious potions ingredient. "And what do we think Mr. Knight is doing?"

Why does he do that, Harry thought, even as he pondered the question. The 'we' was slightly condescending, as if Snape was humouring him, but at the same time, it did not seem like if he was being mocked. Maybe it was just a Snape thing, Harry decided, much as the headmaster always offered sweets.

"Um...he's going into the forest here," Harry all but murmured, tensing slightly when the man leaned close for a better look at the half-completed puzzle.

"Why the forest?" the potions master inquired, the look in his eyes genuinely curious. "There is a path right here and yet the knight chooses the forest. Explain further Mr. Potter."

"Well," the child began, nipping his lip, "the path is an obvious choice. Anyone would look for him there. In the forest, he might be safer."

"So there are people after him?" the man pressed, moving closer. It was plainly obvious that the child was not referring solely to the knight anymore.

"Well yes. He's a knight after all, everyone wants something from him. He'll have to hide away from them – the forest, no one would think to follow him into the forest."

"But there are dangerous animals in the forest," the professor pointed out, placing a puzzle piece onto the grid and gesturing at the tiny snake on it. "Animals that can hurt him. Would we still want Mr. Knight to go into the forest?"

"Yes," Harry said determinedly, eyeing the puzzle critically. "Animals haven't hurt the knight, people have. I'll take my chances there any day."

The slip was noted but not commented on, and instead the potions master straightened back into the armchair, idly ordering Harry to continue building. They had been like this the past hour or so, he sitting in the rarely used living room with a potions journal, overlooking what he sincerely believed to be the boy's first opportunity to play.

Albus had holed himself in his office, under the guise of work, but Severus knew better. He wanted to give them bonding time, and probably come up with another strategy to gain an apology. Not that he had any plans of retracting his less than kind words the night before, no matter what the old coot pulled. Another half an hour or so passed before Severus finished the next section of his journal and put it aside once again. He was mildly surprised to find that Potter was now almost three quarter way through the puzzle. It was a five hundred piece after all but even now the last section was being assembled.

He launched into a next question and answer section. Harry was struggling to finish another thought when Albus interjected from the doorway. "Only you Severus would turn playtime into a quizz."

"Headmaster!" Harry said, surprising them both by the open smile of happiness on his face. "Come see! Professor Snape's been helping me!"

"I haven't," the man glared, although it lacked its usual heat.

"You did," Harry countered, his voice a lot more confident now as he watched the man. "You helped me make a story about it. It's funner that way. Thank you!"

"More fun Potter," Snape corrected automatically. "Now, since Albus is available I have potions to brew."

"Oh no Severus," the headmaster said, a smirk lilting at his lips. "It's almost lunchtime. Harry child?"

"Yes sir?" he piped up, looking up from the puzzle that had recaptured his attention.

"Why don't you go and wash up hmm?"

The boy obediently rose to his feet although he shot the game a sad look.

"You can finish the puzzle after lunch Potter. No one will disturb it."

"Really sir?" he asked, walking over to him and tipping his head back to meet his gaze.

There was something in the boy's expression that caused the potions master's hands to twitch and blinking in surprise the man hurriedly folded them across himself. He had not just wanted to reach out and brush the hair out of the boy's eyes. Oh no, he had not. He was not the touchy one. That was Albus' job, no matter how - quaint Potter looked with his head tilted back like that with that open expression on his face.

"I keep my word Potter. Off you go now; there will be an inspection upon your return."

"Yes sir," Harry nodded, before leaving the room.

A brief silence descended after his departure before Albus spoke. "I think we made the right choice."

"You made the choice," Severus pointed out as he marked his spot in his journal. "However I am satisfied thus far. He's already a far cry from what I've grown to know. There are bouts of confusion though. He's automatically comparing everything we do to his relatives and of course some of his reactions cannot be restrained. He is dismissing it easily enough though and I sense a changing attitude towards his relatives."

"All this from watching him?"

"Don't be daft old man," Severus growled as he passed him. "His mind is like an open book. I've been scanning him all morning, gauging if any further intervention is needed. As much as it pains me to say it, you did not muck up his mind as I had thought you would."

"Your faith in me is astounding," Albus drawled dryly. "There was not that many memories that actually needed removing," he revealed. "The main one was around his seventh birthday. He apparated away from his cousin who fell and broke his arm. In retaliation, they broke him. In all I think I took about seventeen memories out, equalling about three months of his life. A far cry of what I original thought would be necessary if I'm honest. I suppose his remaining memories are somewhat distorted by it."

"Obviously," the younger wizard retorted as he set a plate on the table. He raised an eyebrow seconds later when a glass slipped from Dumbledore's hands, but waved his hand, stopping it from breaking. "What's the matter old man?" he asked as he sat, eyeing him with slight boredom. "Forgot to order next week's supply of lemon drops?"

However, before the headmaster could reply Harry walked into the room, moving straight to the potions master and raising his hands, smiling slightly when he received an 'Acceptable Potter' before seating himself. By the time lunch was over, Severus had forgotten his question as he escaped to his laboratory, leaving Dumbledore and Potter to an afternoon on their own.

*

He had a good voice, Albus thought absentedly as he overlooked Harry who was busy trying to complete the last segment of his puzzle. He was humming softly, something he had never done before in the man's presence and Albus saw it as proof that the right decision had been made. He had never seen his little boy so contented. Would Severus have been the same? It was too late to find that out, now was it?

He was wondering how best to broach a sensitive topic with Harry, something that had only occurred to him in his little conversation with Severus. Harry had apparated at age seven, he mused, had grown his hair back at eight and had turned his teacher's hair blue at nine. All extraordinary bouts of magic, given his age. But that was the tip of the iceberg. Perhaps in his relief of helping the boy the day before he had overlooked a very crucial sign, but now he was well aware of it.

His ward was skilled at wandless magic, even though he seemed inherently disturbed by the fact. Wandless magic, especially done with the ease Harry displayed was rare in the wizarding world. And the boy had not said anything, instead going about struggling with a wand that was obviously not meant for him. He would have to have words with Ollivander. The man should have reported such a thing to him immediately, moreover he should not have sold Harry a wand in the first place. But then, he acknowledged, Harry had been vehement. A wand was on the school list and therefore he needed one. No one had ever thought that a first year would have the potential for such skill and even then, their parents would surely have noticed and informed the school.

Now that he thought about it, the headmaster felt slightly ashamed of himself and had no doubt that members of his staff would feel the same way once he told them. For wasn't it a fact that back in the day Lily Evans was amazingly proficient without a wand? If he recalled correctly, it was somewhere around the redhead's third year that her wand was put away permanently after she complained that her spell work was becoming harder to do through the wand. How could no one have thought that Harry was similar? The signs were all there once someone was willing to look.

Lily's practicals had suffered those first few weeks in Hogwarts until a teacher (Filius if he wasn't mistaken) had literally stumbled across her making an apple dance across the table with her index finger only. Her marks had risen to among the top of her year after that. Really, why had no one thought to ask Harry if he was similar? And here they had all gone around thinking that the child was little more than a squib, a probable disappointment were his parents around. Harry was very much like the puzzle he was putting together, and Albus could not help but wonder what he would find when he finally put all the pieces together.

But he had more important things to ponder on before that. Like just how was he going to break it to Harry that his wandless magic did not make him an abnormality, but indeed, a very special person. Somehow knowing his little boy, it would not be a simple task.


	11. Chapter 11

Dumbledore's face pleated in a frown as he turned into the kitchen and spied Severus with his arms elbows deep in warm water, scrubbing diligently at a pot. "Why do you insist on doing it manually?" he inquired with a hint of annoyance. "It would take you seconds if you would just use your wand."

The younger wizard did not bother to look at him, and instead smoothly reached for a second pot, dunking it into the water. "The problem with wizards," he replied eventually, "is that they have a tendency to become completely reliant on magic, to the extent that they cannot function without a flick and swish. Forgive me if I choose not to be one of them."

The headmaster harrumphed, folding his arms, and watched with mild bemusement as the potions master continued his efforts on the dirty utensils.

"Was there anything specifically you required," Severus drawled eventually, "or are you that fascinated by manual labour?"

The subtle insult was easily discernable, but rather than retort, Albus shuffled his feet lightly and broached the topic he had originally sought out the man to discuss. "I'm going to talk to Harry about his magic in a little while. Actually, he should be up from his nap by now."

The dark haired wizard glanced at him as he reached for a dry cloth, an eyebrow arched. "And that has what exactly to do with you staring at me?"

Turning back to his task, Severus did not see the way his employer fidgeted slightly, raising a hand to run through his beard. "I've decided to ease into the subject. If he knows that they were partial to it, he may react more favourably. I was wondering if you were interested in telling him about L-"

"Choke on a lemon drop old man," Snape interrupted smoothly, in the tone one would use to converse about the weather. However, the message was precise and Albus read it easily. "And," he continued when he sensed that the man was about to protest, "if you try to persuade me I will help stuff it down your throat."

"No need to overreact," the man grumbled even as he turned away, shooting the younger wizard a doleful look. "Can't you be more agreeable like Harry?"

The younger wizard showed no signs of hearing the last remark, instead focusing on stacking the utensils according to size before lifting them onto the right shelf. He continued his steadfast movements until the headmaster's footsteps faded away. It was only then that the carefully crafted mask on his face slipped slightly and he walked so that he was standing at the windows, looking aimlessly out at the cloudy sky.

"He has your talent then Lily," he murmured softly, his eyes darkening considerably.

He had no idea how long he stood there, lost in the memories of his school days – the good times when he and Lily Evans were the best of friends. A soft smile played at his lips as he imagined her laughter, not high pitched and tinkering like the other witches tried to achieve. No, Lily's laughter was throaty and rich, an honest sign of her delight even as her mouth creased in such a way that the barest hints of dimples were discernable at either corner. Dimples her son shared, he noted, recalling the boy's open smile while assembling his puzzle.

Idly he pushed a wayward strand of hair behind his ear as he continued his contemplation, unconsciously matching his childhood friend with the little boy upstairs, finding more and more similarities as he went. Lily used to stammer too, a fact he only now recalled. However, she had outgrown it long before their Hogwarts days. He could only recall hearing it a handful of times once they began students and then only at the height of her anger or embarrassment. Harry stammered more than he spoke normally and his cheeks were almost permanently rosy while Lily's rarely darkened, except in rage. He had teased her about the fact that he could easily tell her moods by the shade of her cheeks.

There was a lot more of Lily in her son than he had allowed himself to see previously, but the more he thought, the more similarities he saw, and unwillingly, it endeared Potter a little more in his heart. He had always had a soft spot for Lily, the only person who had looked beyond that prickly exterior of his and realised that it was the only behaviour he could easily manifest, too wary to reveal his more vulnerable nature. And she had understood him, rolling her eyes at his insults, laughing openly when he snarled at her in a way others had found threatening. She had been a good friend to him, and Severus had hoped that they would become more than that...but then he had had to go and open his big mouth and –

That dismal thought was never allowed to finish, for at that same second he sensed Albus' magical signature and was broken from his trance. The old man had to be upset about something if he was broadcasting himself so loudly, Severus frowned, and after a moment of debate about the merits of his actions, he decided to investigate, if only because it most definitely involved Lily's boy.

*

Albus continued to grumble for several seconds as he climbed the staircase before putting thoughts of his older charge out of his mind for now in favour of concentrating on Harry, the one currently more open to a guiding hand. He sincerely hoped that this little chat with Harry would go as smoothly as he envisioned. But, as he was swiftly starting to learn, things rarely went as expected when it came to Harry James Potter.

He opened the child's door after knocking, smiling slightly when the boy looked up from the book he was reading. He straightened as the man sat besides him, folding his legs under him comfortably.

"Did you sleep well?" Albus asked tenderly, reaching out to ruffle Harry's hair, chuckling lightly when he leaned into the touch for several seconds.

"Yes sir," Harry responded, sighing regretfully when the affectionate hand withdrew. He pushed his glasses further up his nose bridge as he looked curiously at the man. "You said sir that you wanted to tell me something after I woke up. Will you tell me now?"

"That is the plan my boy," the headmaster agreed, shifting so that he could stare directly at his ward.

"What are we going to talk about?" he inquired, quirking his head to the side. "Another story? I liked that one about Merlin you told me during school."

"Then I will tell you another soon," Albus promised, "however, what I want to talk to you about is very much real."

"Oh? What is it?"

Dumbledore hesitated for a second but then decided to simply speak out. The direct method always worked best for the boy after all. "Your parents Harry," he said softly, "I think it's time you know more about them."

Whatever he had been expecting from Harry, it certainly had not been this. The boy stiffened visibly and dropped his gaze. Albus could almost see the tumult of emotions racing through his mind at his statement, and none of those emotions he wagered were laced with happiness. Finally, what he deemed to be a resigned air settled over the preteen and Harry nodded in a mildly defeated way.

"If you wish to sir."

The odd phrasing puzzled the man and he questioned his charge. "I would think that you would be excited to hear about them Harry," he prodded. "Don't you want to know about Lily and James?"

The boy squirmed slightly and his fingers clenched into a fist, a sure sign that he was reluctant to speak. Sighing quietly, the headmaster tipped the boy's face upwards, frowning when he refused to meet his gaze. "Look at me Harry," he bid, and when obeyed, he stared into reluctant green orbs. "Now child, why wouldn't you want to know about them? They were excellent people my boy; I thought you would be glad to hear of them."

A flash of confusion crossed the child's eyes before he eyed him suspiciously, his tone dubious as he spoke. "My parents were good people?" he repeated, before flushing and ducking his head at the look his words garnered. "S-sorry s-sir, b-but my parents were not g-good. You don't have to lie to me."

In shock, Albus dropped the boy's chin. Why had he not seen this in the boy's mind he wondered before shoving it aside for later analysis. "Your parents weren't- who told you that Harry?" he all but demanded, before reeling himself in as the boy shied away, unused to such a tone from him. However, he was helpless to disobey.

"My relatives sir," he stammered, tensing when the man's temper seemed only to rise. "I-I, they told me about my parents. They were no good drunks. They died in a car crash."

"And you believed them," Albus deadpanned. "Still believe them after this year?"

The blush on Harry's cheeks deepened and free from the man's grasp he dropped his head, staring determinedly at his sheets. His guardian had never used that tone with him, that slightly biting one that implied that he was being incredibly dense. "I'm sorry," he repeated helplessly, "I don't understand what you mean."

When several seconds passed, Harry risked a peep upwards, only to feel his heart sink somewhat when he saw the headmaster pinching the bridge of his nose, a sure sign of annoyance. Had he angered the man by his words, he thought in panic before moving to apologise again, only to stop short when the man's eyes met him. A small sound of confusion passed his lips when the man reached out suddenly and he found himself pressed against his sturdy form, inhaling that tantalising scent of lemon even as his back was firmly rubbed. He stiffened for a moment; confused by the contradictory signals the man was giving him before relaxing, unable to resist the lure of that affectionate hug.

Uncertain, he spoke into the man's robes, knowing the words would reach his ears regardless. "I am in trouble?"

"You did nothing wrong child. It is just that...surely you..." the man abruptly pulled back slightly so he could see his face. "Child, can you honestly tell me that you haven't questioned what your relatives told you? Despite everything?"

Those final two words were loaded he knew instinctively but at the moment he had no time to think about it. For the man's eyes bore into his own, demanding answers. "Sir," he replied after a minute's thought. "I really don't know what you want me to say right now."

A defeated sigh passed the man's lips before he gave the boy a wane smile allowing him to draw back. "Perhaps by the end of this conversation you will understand," he said simply. "I will tell you about your parents, as I knew them, now. Okay?"

"Yes sir," Harry agreed, although his tone plainly showed that his agreement was based solely on the fact that it seemed that it was what the man wanted.

Collecting himself and reorganising his thoughts Albus began. "Well, I met your father when he was about three months old. Even from that young age I knew he would be a handful. Your poor grandmother was at her wits end one evening and I offered my services to tend to James – or Jamie as he was called then – while she answered an urgent message. Her warning about him being fussy was an understatement to say the least. I tried to play with your father, but even at three months, he was a handful. He would not laugh at my silly faces nor did the toy I waved at him hold his interest. Just when I was at my limit he settled upon a game he found fascinating, tugging on my beard. He was mighty strong for a babe I must say, and it was a most painful experience while I attempted to free myself from his little clutches.

"Unfortunately for all those around him, his mischief only grew worse with time. One time I was conned into changing the little brat's nappy and he peed on me the second I took it off and then had the audacity to laugh at me. Your grandmother was no different, I imagine I looked quite silly. It was a habit of his, and until he was potty trained, few escaped the wrath of Jamie's golden shower. I saw him a few times after that and with each occasion, I both looked forward too and dreaded his arrival at Hogwarts. He had a sharp mind on him but he was more prone to directing that to pranking others for his own amusement.

"Soon enough James Potter arrived at Hogwarts, the very first student to my knowledge to have lost house points before being sorted."

"How?" Harry interjected, his curiosity overwhelming him. This was a side to his father he had never heard about and it was fascinating.

"He had a falling out with another first year," Albus supplied with a hint of a smile. "He wanted to impress her from what I recall and did a spell on another student in her carriage. Needless to say she was not amused, however instead of apologising, he did another spell on the lad. She reached the limit of her patience at that point and rapped him a good one from what I recalled. Your father was incensed and ran off to a prefect. However he overlooked the fact that his own mischief would be revealed. Your father lost five points I believe as the instigator and the girl got off with a scolding.

"When they both sorted into Gryffindor the staff expected trouble and indeed many a teacher wanted to cry at some point in those early years. The animosity between them became legendary and if there was ever an argument in the common room, it was most decidedly between the two of them."

"Who was the girl sir?" Harry asked curiously, even as he wondered why his mother had yet to be mentioned, "and did they ever stop fighting?"

"They still fought a lot, no matter how old they grew," Albus allowed, even as the corners of his mouth twitched slightly. "I recall that they had quite the argument about naming you. Lily wanted her maiden name to live on, but James refused to have his son named Evan. You were named after her grandfather instead although most assuredly no-one called you anything but Harry."

"Wait, Lily - me?" Harry gasped, his mouth dropping open. "That girl was my mother?"

"Indeed she was my boy. Everyone was shocked when they became a couple in their sixth year but then, as the saying goes, there is a thin line between love and hate. Despite their differences they suited each other remarkably well. The amount of mischief your father got into after making her his girlfriend decreased significantly while she ventured outside of studying more often to take a greater part in non-academic life. There was not a doubt in anyone's minds when they made Head Boy and Girl their seventh year and they were the finest pair the school had seen.

"They were destined for great things," Albus sighed regretfully, "The things your mother could do with magic Harry – she was the brightest witch of her time, that much was clear and her wandless capabilities were the envy of many. I foresaw great things in her future, but alas, her greatest accomplishment ended up being you."

*

Harry's mind was working in overdrive as he fought to comprehend what the headmaster had just revealed. His parents had been the top students in their time, they had been skilled and intelligent? But that completely contradicted what his aunt and uncle had told him. "They weren't lazy and dumb?" he asked hesitantly, continuing before the man could move to reply. "They lied?"

His relatives had deceived him, that much he knew now for his headmaster would never do something so cruel as to lie to him so. Harry had grown up hearing non-stop how worthless a sister his mother had been, marrying the first punk that came along and then dying barely three years later, leaving her noble sister burdened with her spawn. He himself with time had grown to hate his mother and father, the two reckless adults that, in their irresponsibility had gotten themselves killed, leaving him to sponge off other people. And now, that he knew the truth...

A low groan tore from Harry's throat at his thoughts. It did not add up he realised, finally understanding the headmaster's earlier words and annoyance. It was impossible to. How could he still have thought that they were reckless when he arrived at Hogwarts, surrounded by people who seemed to know more about him than he knew about himself. How had he been so blind? The truth had lain right before him, but what had stopped him from seeing it? He had heard the comments, the mutters from teachers that he was nothing like his mother and father. What had he interpreted them to mean? How could he not have looked deeper into their words and see the discrepancy? Harry never got into trouble and worked as hard as he could and yet had been disparaged for not being like them. The answer was obvious to him now. The teachers were lamenting that he was not as good as his parents. This confirmed that his aunt had lied.

Nevertheless, why couldn't he have realised it sooner?

However, more than this lack of insight on his part was another factor that drew another dismal sound from the boy and had the headmaster drawing him close to speak to him in soothing tones that he barely heard. If, as he now realised, his aunt had had the propensity to lie to him, what else had been untrue? The answer was clear; how they had died. She had told him that his parents had died in a car crash of their own doing and somehow he had survived with naught but his scar – a very famous scar in the wizarding world. The connection clicked and Harry groaned again in self-hatred. He clutched tightly at the headmaster's robes, seeking his aid in anchoring himself as he worked through his tumultuous thoughts. And the man offered it willingly, his arms tightening almost painfully around his body, enveloping him in a safe haven. The man was his anchor while he navigated through the last of his painful deductions. The first of many sobs broke from him the moment that grand picture became clear.

His parents had died in a 'car crash' on Halloween, the same day that he defeated Voldemort and gained the now famous scar. His aunt had said he had been with them and that was something he did believe. However for him to be with them could mean only one thing. They had died for him, protecting him to their best ability from the great evil, and after they had fallen and the man turned on him, somehow he had emerged victorious. Why he had not deduced this earlier was obvious. The students spoke so many untruths about them that he rarely paid them any heed, but more than that was his belief that his family had had his best interests at heart, something obviously not so.

He could not imagine his parents leaving a toddler alone to be attacked by the Dark Lord. They had been there in the house with him, defending him like the noble people the headmaster implied they were.

NOT HARRY!

Out of the wilderness of his thoughts, that frantic voice emerged, screaming those words at an unseen person. The woman was begging for her life to be taken instead, as long as her son was spared, a son that Harry knew instinctively was him. That was his mother's voice he recognised, and with that recognition, another emerged.

TAKE HARRY AND RUN!

That male voice was James Potter, his father. That confirmed it. His parents had fought for him, had died for him. They were not what the Dursleys had made them out to be. They were heroes, heroes who had died so that he may live.

"Momma! Dadda!"

The words slipped out of his lips amidst a sob, and unknown to him the headmaster flinched, even as he cradled him nearer, shocked at the blatant vulnerability in his voice.

The memories came to him now, barely remembered ones that surfaced, rising above his latter years until he saw himself, cuddled in the arms of a redheaded woman who cooed at him and smiled when he reached for her chain. Memories of the messy haired man who jostled him in the air and blew air bubbles against his stomach. The parents who had loved him, laughed at him when he tried to feed himself peas and somehow ended up wearing it; the mother who looked at him indulgently when he fought his father against taking a bath and then fifteen minutes later fought against getting out. His parents had loved him; the Dursleys had lied. They were wonderful people and they had died for him.

Suddenly Harry wished that he was not in the headmaster's arms, comforted by the smell of lemon. For what he wished was the one cradling him to smell faintly of sandalwood or lavender, the smells associated with his parents when they cuddled him. But they were not here, and the person he clung to was not of his blood, not the persons he desperately wanted to see and touch. However, there was nothing he could and so he did what came naturally to him.

He clung on to the poor substitute for the parents he now remembered clearly and cried, cried until he was too worn out to do anything but weep softly. And then, as he was laid back on his bed, still sniffling, he curled up like he used to in his toddler days and unwittingly his thumb crept into his mouth as he caught the edge of his pillow in his other hand and slept. A small smile worked its way around his thumb hours later, for in his sleep his parents had come to him. At least here, he thought happily, he could be with the ones he finally remembered, and loved.


	12. Chapter 12

Harry yawned widely as he stretched his arms above his head in a bone-popping movement before patting along his bedside table until he found his glasses. This really needed to stop, he decided as he padded into the bathroom automatically. This was his second – or was it third? – day as the headmaster's ward and he had cried in each of those days. True the reasons had been valid, but still, he never cried before Hogwarts and now seemed to have turned into a water spout.

That was unacceptable.

Idly he tousled his hair dry before wiping the excess fog off the mirror to peer at himself contemplatively. Dumbledore's words drifted to him, along with his own musings on the matter. The previous night had been the best he had experienced in recent times. He had been 'reunited' with his parents in the realm of dreams and even though logic dictated that his mind had simply conjured desperately what he had wanted to see and hear, he knew in his heart that certain events had been real. Moments long forgotten had come back to him, days of his life before the Dursleys had flitted through his mind – still did if he concentrated hard enough. They were pleasant memories that left him tingling with happiness and he felt almost oddly at peace with himself, as if a terrible burden had been lifted from his shoulders.

Once upon a time he had had a family, he thought contentedly as he buttoned his shirt. A wonderful family who had loved him and although his time with them had been fleeting, Harry knew now that they had been the best eighteen months he had ever experienced. And now, after so many years of living with the Dursleys, he had a chance to be loved again, here in Cottage House in the care of two wizards, whom, in their own way, were concerned for his wellbeing.

His absent-minded thoughts ceased abruptly when he pulled his curtains back, bracing himself for a flash of sunlight, only to see a fiery red sky. The sun was only now rising. A glance showed that it was a quarter to six, and mildly surprised, he sat on his bed, confused as to what to do.

In his guardian's opinion, it was too early for him to be up, far less dressed. However, he did not fully support that view. He had always been an early riser, albeit not by choice. Regardless of that, there had hardly ever been a day when the messy haired boy had not been up before five in the morning preparing breakfast for an uncle who ate such large amounts (not to mention his son) that made it necessary for Harry to wake so early in order to prepare the quantity of food they required.

A memory tugged briefly at Harry's mind and he allowed it, watching a younger version of himself cowering on the floor, holding his arms up defensively as his uncle loomed over him. What was that about, Harry frowned, his uncle never hit him like that. A figment of his imagination he decided before he swept it away. However, despite his musings, he had yet to come across and answer. What was he to do now?

Sleeping again would be a futile endeavour. Yes he could find a toy to amuse himself with, but for some reason the idea did not sit comfortably with him. Indeed he squirmed lightly at the mere thought of it. There was something about him lazing around; deliberately waiting for others to cater to him that perturbed him to no end. It felt wrong and even though he knew the headmaster would not be pleased, Harry decided that he would not idle around. Besides, the headmaster had said that he should enjoy himself, and, without the need to worry about meeting a certain time, Harry found that cooking could be a pleasurable activity.

As quietly as possible, he crept down the staircase, rather expecting either wizard to appear before him and start chastising. Neither appeared luckily, and Harry felt a sense of satisfaction as he successfully reached the kitchen. He took a minute to plan out a menu. From the little he had noticed, the potions master tended to avoid greasy foods in the morning, sticking mostly to toast, bread or cereals while the headmaster indulged himself more readily on sausages, hash and eggs. He himself ate sparingly from each so that wasn't a problem.

Humming contentedly to himself – something he distinctly remembered his mother doing as she flitted around the kitchen much as he was doing now. His hand froze however as he reached the stove, a memory slowly emerging, completely capturing his attention.

_Harry was sitting in his high chair, shooting his mother a toothy smile as he waved his chubby fists in the air. The redhead smiled brightly at him, and even clapped appreciatively when his fingers wiggled and his plastic spoon and cup levitated themselves to float about him, bringing forth childish giggles._

_"Momma goo!" he demanded in his barely discernible English, waving his hands as he spoke, causing the spoon to seemingly hop on air to prove his point._

_The redhead chuckled as she raised her hands, her fingers dancing gracefully as several things levitated themselves. Harry chortled as the vegetables moved to the cutting board, before, with a flick of the woman's wrist, a knife descended upon them, cutting them all neatly while Lily Potter waved her hands much like a conductor in a choir._

_"Is Harry happy now?" she asked glibly as the knife stopped._

_Baby Harry, not understanding more than his name gurgled contentedly, and played quietly with his utensils until the meal was complete. ___

A chill ran through Harry as the memory faded, only to be replaced by the headmaster's voice from the previous day. 

"The things your mother could do with magic Harry- she was the brightest witch of her time, that much was clear and her wandless capabilities were the envy of many." 

Harry stared in a daze at his fingers. His mother had been like him, or rather, he was like her. A feeling of disassociation came across the eleven year old and blindly, he stumbled backwards until the backs of his legs hit a chair that he gladly sunk into. His mother had used her hands to perform magic, an ability he had despised for the past year. A dark chuckle escaped the boy's lips at the irony of the situation. 

He had locked himself away in empty classrooms, feeling revulsion with himself as he struggled with his wand to perform magic that a simple wave of his finger could accomplish – no where as perfect as it should be, but still the results were vastly better than what he achieved with his wand. A wand he had argued with Ollivander to get. Was that what the man had meant, Harry pondered, as his mind drifted back tot he day in question. 

He had taken almost an hour in the wand shop, literally swishing every wand the man had ineffectually. The one he had now had had the greatest reaction. A single spark that had fizzled in seconds had emerged from it. The old man had hummed contemplatively as he looked between Harry and the wand that dangled from his fingers before he had shaken his head. 

"That one is ill-suited for you Mr. Potter," he had said, "I told the same thing to another new student many years ago, She argued with me then and left the store victorious. I will not allow you to do the same." 

But in the end he had. Harry's fear of being rejected from the school for showing up without a wand had pushed past his shyness and stammering, and although he had cringed that night in the safety of his cupboard for his actions towards the man, he had been happy, safe in the knowledge that he was like every other wizard, the bearer of a wand. 

The man had to have meant his mother, Harry deduced, and strangely, he felt a small bit of pride at being so similar to the woman. He wondered idly if she would have been pleased, and knew undoubtedly, that she would have been. As too would have his father. 

From the headmaster's tone, Harry gleaned that his magic was not something to despise as he had been doing, rather it was to be celebrated. He had not seen another wizard in the school performing spells as he did. That had frightened him to no end, forcing him to struggle that much harder to make his wand work properly. He could have done so much better at practicals, he sighed in annoyance, before the feeling faded, leaving him facing the sad fact that he had no other to blame for that but himself. 

He had been the one to hide away. True none of the other teachers had particularly gave him a reason to approach them with his issue; but that excuse was not good enough. By the end of the first week of school, he had established a tentative relationship with the headmaster. At any time he could have told the old man, but he hadn't. And why? Because he hadn't trusted him. Harry snorted in disgust at that fact, his nails digging painfully into his palms. He had been afraid – scared – to tell the man lest he decide him unworthy of attending his magnificent school. Harry had not wanted to be rejected, and so he had said nothing. And that nothing had done little more than cause him extra, unnecessary hurt. 

He should have gone to the man the minute he had recognised the fact that the headmaster had looked beyond what the rest of the school saw. The man saw him as Harry Potter, not the boy-who-lived. He would have listened to the eleven year old's problems, he would not have turned him away. How could he have been so stupid not to trust the man? After a little more wallowing, Harry shook his head roughly, dispelling all of the negative feelings that had clouded over what was meant to be a joyous time. He should be happy, celebrating the fact that his magic was normal – special even, and not something to be disgusted about. 

Focusing on that gave him the burst of energy he needed to finally get on with the meal, and, unlike the first time he had used the magical appliances, a small smile lilted at his lips as he tapped on them, imagining his mother in his place. Soon enough the table was laden with breakfast foods and a time check showed that it was just a little after seven. The headmaster at least should be down in a little while, Harry mused, as he placed a mug of juice on the table before checking on the brewing coffee. 

The man usually woke him around half seven, even during the term, leaving him with enough time to change before eating. The meal was always ready when he came downstairs and somehow he could not see the potions master slaving before a stove. Which undoubtedly left it that the headmaster saw to the meal, leaving him to guess that he would be down any time now. A minute later, he was proven right when he heard thumping coming down the steps. 

"Severus Snape cooking breakfast?" the headmaster said in an incredulous tone as he rounded the corner, only to come up short at the sight of his younger ward carefully transferring a mug of hot coffee. "Harry?" he asked in an almost strangled tone. 

Said boy titled his head curiously at the welt of emotions that flashed across the man's face, however, hesitancy reigned supreme after a few seconds. Harry decided immediately that the man was just surprised at seeing him – and well, he was sporting a rather silly grin he allowed. The last time he was conscious of the headmaster being with him, he had been sobbing in the man's arms. No doubt he expected him to be in a somewhat morose mood. 

"Good morning sir," he greeted softly as he moved easily to the man still staring at him. Without a word, and feeling particularly embolden by his current mood, the boy wrapped his arms around the man's middle, squeezing lightly. Moments later the hug was being returned before the man backed away, raising the short boy's chin with a finger. 

"My boy?" he asked, "how are you feeling? And why are you up so early?" 

Harry's smile softened slightly as he crinkled the man's robes in his fingers before speaking. "I couldn't sleep anymore so I thought I'd make breakfast. I'm fine sir." 

His honest tone was met by a raised eyebrow and Harry yelped when abruptly he was lifted. He held on tightly until the headmaster placed him onto the counter before asking him to meet his eyes. The man held his gaze for long moments, enough so that Harry was beginning to feel mildly uncomfortable before finally, the elder broke it naturally, a brief look of contemplation on his face before he shrugged lightly and helped him down. 

"I'm glad you're feeling better child," he said easily, stroking through the messy dark hair. "I will admit that you had me worried yesterday although it seems that a good night's sleep took care of that for you. The truth was disconcerting for you, was it not? Hard to believe," he added seconds later when Harry stared blankly at him. 

"I guess so sir," Harry agreed, as he recalled his tumultuous emotions but then a spark of happiness lit in his eyes as he remembered the most important detail, so much so that he grabbed the man's hand in his excitement, tugging it. "Guess what I realised sir!" he bid. "You told me last night but I only just understood!" 

"Oh?" Albus asked with mild amusement as he dropped into a chair, the boy moving with him. The lad was faintly bouncing with his enthusiasm and although he had read the boy's general thoughts and knew what was coming, he acted the part as he encouraged the boy to speak. 

"Sir!" Harry declared, "I have magic!" 

"Of course you do," he chuckled, deliberately misunderstanding the boy. When Harry made a confused sound he laughed again, tousling his hair gently. "You are a wizard after all my boy. Of course you are magical." 

"Not like that," Harry protested, his smile firm. "Sir, I'm not weak! I can do magic good, just not with a wand. Like momma sir! You said it yesterday remember?" To prove his point Harry waved at the table, proud when a napkin danced. "See sir?" 

"I do see," the headmaster said in a tone laced with amazement. "It seems that you possess you mother's magic abilities my boy. You should be very proud of yourself." 

_"You mean that sir?" he asked. "Honest? I'm like momma then? And daddy? A good person?"_

"You're a wonderful person Harry," the man corrected, earning himself another happy smile from the boy. As he sent the boy upstairs to wake Severus and undoubtedly tell him the news, he chuckled, glad that his plan had worked. 

Plan 'get Harry to reveal his magic' was a success.

*

The words coming out of Harry's mouth were the nearest thing to a whine that the men had ever heard from him. It was enough to tell them that the boy was uncomfortable.

"Do I have to?" he asked softly, his lower lip protruding the slightest bit even as he tugged at the hem of his shirt, shooting the headmaster a morose look. "I feel fine sir."

"This is a check up Harry, not a visit because you're ill," the man explained patiently as he attempted to neaten the boy's hair.

Severus, seated in an armchair across the room found a smirk quirking at the corner of his mouth when the boy shot him a glare – well not a glare perhaps, he doubted the shy child could ever manage such a look, but his meaning was clear from his expression.

After all it had been him who had pointed out to Albus that the child had not had a proper magical examination in years, and (after the boy had run out) stated that it was highly unlikely that he had ever been to a muggle one as well. Dumbledore had readily agreed and after sourcing a trustworthy healer, had arranged for an appointment. He would have simply carried the boy to Hogwarts, but, as he recalled, Harry seemed to have an aversion to the medi-witch and it was better not to make a tense situation worse.

"Can't Professor Snape do it?" Harry tried again, flashing his emerald eyes beseechingly at the dark haired wizard. The man did little but sneer lightly at him, more out of reflex than anything else.

"I Mr. Potter," the wizard said in a no nonsense tone, "will brew whatever potions are required for you. While my mastery did entail me learning the rudiments of healing, I do not claim to be an expert in the art. Thus you will go with Albus to the healer, you will be on your best behaviour of I will ensure that your prescription reeks of the smelliest, most disgusting ingredients I can find."

"Severus!" Dumbledore scolded, even as the boy's eyes widened.

Those healing potion that he had tasted before had been horrible and he had no intentions of finding out what the professor would do to make them worse. The man was the best in his field after all. It was best to stay on his good side.

"I'll be good sir," he promised softly, earning himself a nod of approval from the man.

"I suppose if you do I shall have to find another use for my bat spleen and lizard guts," he replied, before reverting his attention to his journal, smirking beneath the fall of his hair when the boy's eyes widened even further comically. So easy to tease he observed, waving at them absently before they apparated, Harry's head firmly entrenched in the man's robes.

*

Harry's greeting to the healer was made respectfully from his position behind the headmaster. He had been fine those few minutes they had waited to see him, peering curiously around the headmaster's arm into the magazine he had idly picked up. The room seemed nice enough, not generic like he expected a doctor's office to be. But that had all changed the minute the man had emerged, and barely had his guardian stand did Harry dart around him and hang on, peeking at the man from behind him.

His promise to the potions master meant nothing to him at the moment. The man looked eerily familiar to that seedy one his aunt had dragged him too once when the school had written about his lack of medical information. True this man was not as wiry as he had been and he was clean shaven, but there was an air around him, one that all doctors or healers or whatever they called themselves bore. Harry did not trust that air in the least.

That one visit to the doctor had been enough. The man had been mean, administering shots to him with a ferocity that had left him flinching. And then the pain had started. A burning sensation that originated from the point of injection and moved through him till he could barely restrain pained moans. And what was worse was that the man had actually berated him for his behaviour, accusing him of lying when he mentioned the pain and had proceeded to give him more. Luckily he had not required another visit, but that one man had successfully damned all in the profession in Harry's eyes and he had been wary of all such persons since. He really did not care for them, no matter how friendly they appeared to be.

But now the headmaster was speaking to him, trying to draw him from his position behind him. "Come on out Harry," he said in that gently commanding tone of voice that only he seemed to manage. "Healer Mason is just going to make sure that you are healthy. Come on now."

Harry hedged for as long as he could, until with a soft sigh, the headmaster carefully pulled him from his safe spot and stood him before the man, his hold on his shoulder preventing him from shrinking back against him. "Say hello Harry."

"He-hello," he managed before he moved, fast enough that the headmaster's grip faltered, allowing him to hide his face in the folds of his robes.

Albus was torn at what to do. Harry was usually so obedient and his current behaviour was slightly embarrassing. What must the healer be thinking? But before he could make a move either way, Mason was shooting him a speaking look before he stepped forward, bending so that he would be at eye level with the eleven year old, well, if he emerged from his hiding place that is.

The healer saw what the headmaster obviously had not. This was more than childish shyness or nervousness. Actually what Harry was displaying was not too uncommon to him and he acted accordingly making himself as friendly as possible as he spoke to him.

"Hello Harry," he began softly, "If I remember correctly you grew up in the muggle world right and probably saw a muggle healer. That's why you're scared isn't it? Scared of me?" He waited a moment, restraining a look of satisfaction when the boy turned his head slightly, staring at him with hesitancy and curiosity. It was the way of all children, intrigue them enough and their curiosity would overshadow everything else. "You were given muggle medication right? Shots? Yes, I can tell. It hurt didn't it? Badly."

By now the boy was looking at him fully, surprise in his eyes before he nodded the slightest bit, unconsciously pulling back from the headmaster so that he could focus on him better although a hand remained firmly on a bit of the man's clothing. "I-It hurt," he all but whispered. "H-he d-didn't believe me."

Mason nodded sympathetically. "That's usually the case," he said with an apologetic look. "You see Harry, muggle medicines interfere with magic. Only natural ingredients are compatible with us, and most muggle drugs lack enough of those components to make it bearable to us. The problem comes when doctors don't understand that. At the very least he checked for an allergy and found none, but I guess he just thought you were being troublesome right?"

"Y-yes. He got me in trouble."

"I'm sorry Harry. Unfortunately, some people think that children's words are not to be taken seriously, even those who should know better. But Harry," he said reassuringly, "I'm not going to do that. I understand what may or may not agree with you and I will listen to what you say. You shouldn't let one person colour your judgement of everyone else. Healers are your friends Harry, they want what is best for you. I want what is best for you. Will you give me the chance to do so? Trust me not to hurt you? It's alright if you don't, you barely know me. But certainly you do know the man behind you?"

The boy's brows furrowed slightly and his gaze shifted contemplatively between them. "I do."

"Very good. Then you should know that he would never allow you to be hurt right? He wouldn't have brought you here if he believed you wouldn't be comfortable and safe. So why don't you believe in him Harry? Believe that he knows what is best for you, and that, at the current moment is letting me examine you."

That said, he rocked back, waiting patiently for the boy's response. It really was in his hands now and he could only hope he had been persuasive enough. Luckily he had been, for now green eyes were meeting his with far less reservation than before.

"Can my guardian stay with me?" he asked softly.

"The whole time," he agreed, smiling widely.

"Okay then sir," the boy said before turning to the headmaster. "But you will stay?"

"I will even hold your hand if that's what you want child," Albus said softly, patting his head tenderly. "Whatever you want, I will facilitate."

"Okay."

*

"Sweet dreams my child," the headmaster whispered as he pressed a final kiss to his ward's forehead before silently moving from the room, closing the door carefully behind him. Harry had had a busy day, he mused as he leaned against the door. Hopefully he would sleep through the night.

Sending one last thought of peaceful wishes to the child, he straightened, shooting a look towards the black door that demarcated Severus' quarters. It has now minutes to nine. He doubted the man was in it, but he checked anyway. As he had expected it was empty, and he stroked his beard contemplatively. Where had he gone off too?

He hadn't had much time to dedicate to his elder charge since Harry's arrival, and he suddenly felt the pressing urge to rectify the situation. Severus, no matter how snarky, deserved attention too. With that in mind he called for a Hogwart's elf and minutes later, bearing a tray easily in one hand, he headed to the location where he was most likely to find the potions master.

He was pleased when he knocked on the den door and Severus' voice floated out. "If you are taller than five feet, go away."

Albus rolled his eyes but went in anyway. The man had not even opened his eyes. Severus was as relaxed as Albus had ever seen him. His legs were propped up on a stool and his hands were folded lightly across his stomach while his head rested comfortably against the chair back. His hair was loose and waved slightly around him, seeming to stroke him cheek when he finally turned his head, opening his eyes slowly.

"What do you want?" he asked as he returned to his original position. "Something else happened with Potter?"

It was as he had thought, Dumbledore sighed as he put down the tray. When had he become so enrapted with Harry that he had started to ignore his other charge? It was obvious that the only times he had sought out the man recently was to discuss the eleven year old. Barely had he even stopped to ask how the potions master was adjusting to the situation. Well that was something that would be rectified immediately. No wonder Severus had been so snide with him, he had not given the man any reason to be forthcoming with him.

Carefully he placed the tray and went about the motions of pouring it. Eventually his movements garnered enough curiosity for the younger wizard to turn once again and he arched an eyebrow when the headmaster all but thrust a cup towards him. "What's this about old man?" he asked, a hint of what he interpreted to be caution in his voice.

"Nothing," Albus said carefully, as he held it out. "I just thought we could have tea."

"Nothing you do is without motive," Severus pointed out, eying the tea distrustfully.

"For Merlin's sake it isn't poison," Albus snapped, his tone startling the man slightly. Did he have to be so cumbersome when all he was trying to do was be nice to him? He gentled his voice when he saw the look of wariness in the wizard's eyes. Was it really Severus' fault, he pondered, that he did not trust him even with a cup of tea? Maybe it was or maybe it wasn't. It wasn't like he – in the man's opinion - gave him much cause too. Well, there was only one way around that he decided.

Almost sighing at the necessity of it, he pulled back his hand and took a long drag of the tea. "Satisfied?" he all but demanded, seeing surprise in the man's eyes. But there was no response although after a second Severus' gaze shifted away. It was more than enough for him though and with a sigh he reached for the cup still on the tray and offered it.

Severus looked back at him slowly, then to the cup he held.

"All I want to do is talk Severus. Nothing more, nothing less," he explained.

The man made no move for a long moment, and the headmaster was just about ready to give up when suddenly he spoke in a softer voice than one would expect from the surly man. "Only talk?"

"Just talking," he agreed.

After a second Severus nodded, a barely discernible movement, but reached out nonetheless and to Albus' infinite relief, took the cup.


	13. Chapter 13

Something had changed between the two men Harry noted as he peered at them discretely from his spot at the kitchen table. They had told him that he could take his book into the living room but he had within five minutes wandered in to the kitchen, looking around the doorway hesitantly at them. Dumbledore's back had been turned, but Snape, moving to get another pan had seen him, arching that eyebrow questioningly. A small flush had crept onto his face, one that caused the man to roll his eyes before he gestured at the table, obviously reading his unasked question.

He had shot the man a grateful look and sat, losing himself in the world of his book, pumping his legs idly. Unbeknownst to him at one point he had started humming, drawing the attention of the men to him. The headmaster had all but beamed at the perfectly relaxed demeanour he was exuding, while the potions master allowed a light smile to quirk at the corner of his lips before he had gone back to his task.

But what was it that was different about the men's interactions? Harry pondered the fact as he flipped another page, peeking at the two again. They seemed almost content in each other's presence, that slight tension he had originally felt between them strangely absent. What had happened to affect the way the men interacted with each other? The headmaster was his usual way with the man, bombarding him with random questions or making odd statements that earned him incredulous looks from the man.

However, Harry noticed that those remarks did not have the slightly forced edge he had once thought they contained. And, although the potions master maintained his gruff, sardonic responses, there was not the usual heat behind the words, as though they were only being said out of habit. Something had definitely changed he decided, but it seemed for the better and so he found that he did not mind.

Absently his hand reached out to pluck a grape from the plate that Professor Snape had set besides him a while ago with an order to "...eat or else..." Behind the dark haired man, the headmaster had rolled his eyes comically, forcing Harry to bend his head and snicker lightly, a sound that increased when the headmaster ducked the kitchen towel the man tossed his way. Harry had realised that the potions master's words rarely came without a threat, especially when he was concerned.

That realisation had come the night before when Harry, for the first time, had ventured downstairs after he had been put to bed to wish him a good night. The man had been in his laboratory the entire evening and somehow, it had not felt right not to speak to him. He had been admittedly scared when the man had looked at him sternly, standing there in his pyjamas before he shot the clock a speaking look, clearly disapproving of him being out of bed.

"I wanted to say good night sir," he had mumbled as he ducked his head, hoping that his excuse was enough to prevent a scolding. Seconds later, he looked up owlishly at the man who had a hand in his hair, tousling it almost roughly for a second while his face remained firmly averted.

"To bed with you," he had said almost gruffly, "and not a step from it unless you wish to face my wrath."

Although the words had left him scampering away, Harry had been positive that he had heard a chuckle from the man as he left the room. That had been enough to leave him thoughtful. That morning he had observed the man carefully and made his realisation. Outside of the classroom, it seemed the man was nowhere near as strict as he pretended to be. It didn't mean that Harry was no less cautious around him, but it put him more at ease, and, as had become the man's habit, when he sat with him for a while when he played, Harry had actually initiated a conversation with the man, rather than waiting for him to start it.

"Harry?"

"Yes sir?" he replied immediately, focusing on the headmaster. "Do you need help?"

"No child," he smiled. "We're getting along fine here. However, don't you think that it is a beautiful afternoon? Not a cloud in the sky."

Harry looked through the window and agreed. This was the first time in days the weather had been so nice in the afternoon. "It is pretty sir," he said and when the man said nothing else he returned to his book only looking up when Snape snorted. "Sir?"

"Potter, the headmaster was not asking for your opinion on the weather," he explained, leaning against the counter. "What he said was a too subtle invitation for you to go play outside."

"Oh," Harry replied blankly, looking to the headmaster who nodded, looking slightly chagrined.

When he still made no move after a minute, the potions master sighed, dropped what he was doing and crossed the room. Harry squawked as he was lifted clear of the chair by the man's hands and deposited by the door, the man opening it pointedly. "Out Potter," he demanded, causing the boy to look up at him curiously. "Go on now," he continued, giving him a light shove. "I don't want you in here for at least an hour."

"Sir?"

"What Potter?"

"What am I supposed to do?" he asked softly.

The professor looked down at him dumbfounded for a moment before he smacked his forehead with his hand. "For Merlin's sake," he grumbled, looking down at him through his fingers.

Without a word the man spun, whipping his wand out quickly. "Accio ball," he said quickly.

Harry was surprised when the said item floated down to the teacher before it was pressed into his hands.

"There you are," he was told, even as he found himself being spun around. When Harry looked down at the item with an odd expression Snape seemed to reach the end of his patience. "Potter," he said in a tone that had Harry knew oh so well. "You will stay out here, play with that ball and mind me, you better had enjoy it."

The dark haired boy nodded before running off at the glare directed him. It was only a minute later, when he stood near to the flowers he had been fascinated with that first day that he realised that he had just been ordered to have fun. It seemed strangely ironic in a weird way. Risking a glance towards the house, he saw no one looking at him so he sat down on the grass, putting the toy aside for now.

What exactly was he supposed to do with it? The last time he had seen a ball had been when he had been gardening under sweltering heat and Dudley had been intermittently hitting him with one, laughing in that obnoxious way of his. He certainly did not think that was what the potions master meant for him to do. He set that thought aside as he saw a movement in his periphery vision. Turning, he focussed on the plants. They were leaning closer to him he realised, and, the one closest was what had caught his attention, the richly coloured bloom seemed to be straining to touch him. He eased back slightly as it neared him, uncertain before he remembered that they would not hurt him.

"Nice flower," he said slowly, not finding it in the least bit strange that he was talking to a plant. After all, his first pet had been that long legged spider that lived in the topmost corner of his cupboard. Now that he thought of it, he hoped it was okay without him there anymore. "You're very pretty," he continued, reaching out to stroke slowly a petal of the one nearest to him.

The reaction was immediate. A gasp of surprise and pleasure passed Harry's lips when the flower straightened at his touch, a puff of what seemed to be gold sparkles rising from it before a sweet scent permeated the air. His eyes widened in pleasure as the sparkles wafted over the other flowers causing them to react similarly. This was so cool, he thought, looking around as what amounted to a golden cloud rose, hovering over the flowerbed.

"My magic caused this?" he thought to himself, glancing from his hand to the plants continuously. Curious as to what would happen if he touched it again, Harry reached out once again. This time he giggled when the flower all but shivered, all the others stretching towards him.

"You want me to touch you too?" he asked before he stood, ghosting his hand along the flower heads, laughing when the reacted the same way. It was then, after all had been touched, that he saw what the headmaster had told him once. The flowers started moving, swaying in a nonexistent breeze. It was as his magic had sparked a life in them and this was the only way they could express it. How long he stood there observing them, he did not know. What was true was that he made not a single move until, as a single unit the plants simultaneously released one last set of golden sparkles before stilling. He saw that it was pollen when he passed his hand through the cloud. Wizarding flowers – well at least this variety he corrected himself – seemed not to need carriers.

Fascinating.

When there were no more movements from the plants, Harry decided to move on. In all honesty, this was his first outing outside of the house since his arrival, and although the windows provided an excellent view of the surrounding area, there was a huge difference between seeing the scenery and actually being in it, experiencing it first hand. Taking up the ball, a perfect blue and green sphere, he headed to the western side of the house. Unlike the area to the front, this side of the yard seemed less sculptured, as if nature was the only designer of the layout.

Harry fell in love with it immediately.

The thick green grasses rose several inches above his ankle. Tiny multi-coloured blossoms grew among it, creating a beautiful contrast. The said grass was swaying gently in a building wind, and as he listened, Harry could hear the beautiful melody as the wind passed through the blades. It was so scenic, he decided, emitting a contented sigh as he waded through the grass towards, what was quickly becoming to him, the best feature of this side of the yard.

There, in the centre, rising from the grasses was a huge tree, its wide canopy provided several feet of shade all around. An image rose to Harry's mind from a storybook he had read in the library and unconsciously he looked around the base of the tree, trying to see a white spotted rabbit chewing contentedly and a pair of squirrels play-fighting. There were no such animals, but that did not take away from the tree's magnificence in any way.

The tree seemed to be calling to him, and Harry willingly obeyed, sitting down with his back leaning against the thick smooth trunk, one hand gently stroking a root that rose from the ground. A small twittering from up above caught his attention, and the boy threw his head back, searching through the thick branches until he saw them, a pair of birds with twigs in their beaks, arranging them. A nest, they're building a nest, he smiled. This tree was going to be a home! Harry dropped back throwing his hands behind his head as he continued to look up at the particular branch, watching as the birds flew to and fro, bringing more and more materials before arranging it in a complex pattern. They really were trying to make the best home possible for their babies, Harry thought, wishing them the best. If their diligence was anything to go by, their babies would be the best cared for birds the world had ever seen.

*

"Professor Snape?"

Harry stared at the man in mild surprise, his hands stopping their task of buttoning his shirt. The professor rarely ventured into his bedroom, and even then it was only to ensure that he had drunk his morning potions and not poured them down the sink. Not that the thought hadn't exactly crossed his mind at one time or another. Despite the man's assurance that he had not done anything to the potions to add to their unique flavour, a number of them were quite horrid and he needed to be persuaded into taking them.

However, the headmaster had been in the room a mere twenty minutes earlier to wake him and he had taken him then. Surely Dumbledore had told the man such? But no, the wizard had not even glanced to his table where the vials were stored but was instead rolling out a parchment and handing it to him.

"Sir?" he asked questioningly as he took the open parchment, glancing at it.

It was written in the man's own sharp, precise handwriting, the kind that always made him wonder how hard the man pressed his quill against the writing material to achieve such a deep imprint. Knowing that the wizard was not one to put up with unnecessary questions, Harry took a minute to actually browse what was written, a right move apparently, seeing as the man moved to claim his desk chair while he read, neatening already perfect books as he waited.

"This is a schedule sir," he stated once he reached the end of the parchment, allowing it to re-roll itself.

"Five points to Gryffindor," the man said in what could pass as a snide tone. "Yes Mr. Potter that is a schedule, your schedule. You have had a week to familiarise yourself with the house and your new living conditions. Starting on Monday you will follow this. I refuse to let you spend the vacation rotting your brain."

"Okay sir," Harry agreed, walking over to where he sat and dropping the schedule on it. He flinched slightly when Snape pulled him close abruptly, but relaxed once the man reached for his shirt, unbuttoning it.

"Silly boy, you've done it up wrong."

Harry glanced down, flushing slightly when he saw it was indeed so. He fought against his embarrassment while the potions master straightened the garment appropriately and starting re-doing it for him.

"I sincerely hope Mr. Potter," the man stated as he worked, "that you are not one of those students who tend to throw away assignments. My first task for you come Monday is to go through all of your past works and redo all the assignments that have earned marks below an E. And mind you, unlike other students I have access to all your course work grades. If you have indeed dumped those assignments you will have the pleasure of redoing it from scratch rather than simply improving them."

"I have my essays sir," Harry replied quickly, averting his eyes when the man made to meet his gaze.

His action garnered a slight frown from the man who forced him to meet his look. "A new rule Mr. Potter, to add to the ones I have already given you."

The eleven year old's brows furrowed slightly. What rules had the potions master given him? The only ones he could recall were from that harrowing experience in his playroom when he had been instructed to "...eat, sleep, play and annoy..." him. However the man didn't seem to be in a mood to appreciate any contradictions so he settled for nodding.

"What is the rule sir?" he mumbled.

"It's simple Potter. You will look people in the eye when speaking to them."

Harry blinked. That was the rule? He had to meet people's eyes? But even as simple as it sounded, Harry knew that it would be a difficult task. The eyes were the windows to the soul and he truly did not like the idea of people seeing so much of his being. Besides, there was a bit of Dursley logic drilled into him. One didn't look upon their betters so, and that lesson had been firmly entrenched in him.

"Well Potter?"

The boy squirmed lightly; this would be a hard rule to obey. Even now, he was not meeting the piercing black eyes, instead looking downwards as he fidgeted. "Sir-" he began, shooting him a fleeting pleading glance. It's uncomfortable, he thought, please don't make me do this! I don't want to...please?

"You must Potter," Snape responded, in a tone that seemed just a little more understanding. Startled Harry looked at him, noting that among the sternest now was a small amount of sympathy – and was that pity he saw? "It's a small step that we must take Potter. It wouldn't do for the world to think we are cowards, right?"

"I'm not a coward," Harry murmured, "I'm just- I..."

"You're shy?" the man finished, his gaze softening the slightest bit more at the boy's hesitant nod. "It's natural to you, I know that now. But there is a time and place for everything child and you need to understand that.

"Although some, like that coot of a guardian you have finds it endearing, you'll have to overcome it eventually. I'm not saying that you have to do it all at once, but Potter, truly, you will have an easier time if you take this one little step."

"Making eye contact will do that sir?" he asked dubiously.

"It's a start little boy," the man retorted. "It will make you seem more forward and if ever so slightly more outgoing. People will respect you for that."

"I have to do so with everybody?"

"Well it's only the old man and myself here with you now," he pointed out, pushing a strand of hair behind his ear. "So let's start with that hm? You will follow my rule, will you not Potter?"

Harry nodded slowly. Now that the man had put it that way, had actually taken the time to explain his reasons for the rule, he could agree to that. Harry found that he liked this system. No one was giving him orders blindly. There was actually a purpose and reason behind everything that he was asked to do, even if he did not particularly like it. "Yes sir," he agreed. "I will obey."

For a moment what passed as an approving smile flitted across the man's face before it hardened, back into the Professor Snape he was very familiar with. "See that you do Potter," he drawled, setting the boy back from him so that he could stand, "or else you will find yourself arms deep in water scrubbing my cauldrons."

"Yes sir!" he chirruped, his dimples showing slightly as his mouth creased. His theory was being proven over and over again.

"Cheeky brat," the man mumbled, as he patted his hair once, and headed for the door. "An emergency came up at Hogwarts so Albus left a few minutes ago and I doubt that he will be back anytime soon. I have potions to take care of so you'll have to amuse yourself for the morning at least."

"Okay sir, I'll behave."

"See that you do," the man continued as he opened the door, "don't go anywhere you aren't supposed to and if you go into the yard stay within calling distance."

With that, the door closed, leaving Harry alone. The boy fiddled about for a few minutes. Undoubtedly, that was why the headmaster had given him leave to eat in his pyjamas. He had known he would be leaving soon after and wanted to ensure that they still ate breakfast together. It was one of those unspoken things that they did around Cottage House. They ate meals together, no excuses. He had learnt that on his third day, when after ten minutes the potions master had not shown up at the table, Dumbledore had left to find him, returning fifteen minutes later with a potions master that was beyond grumpy. It was nice in an odd way, he supposed that the headmaster was so keen to keep their day as structured as possible.

Pattering about for a few minutes, Harry, with nothing better to do reopened his new schedule and dropped onto his beanbag. It was strict and yet flexible, an oxymoron yes, but it applied to what he was reading. The only times that were mandatory were the teaching lessons from ten through twelve and study sessions from three to four on weekdays. Weekends were free and all the times in between left Harry with the freedom to do basically as he pleased, although the professor had added several recommended activities for him that Harry found completely agreeable.

He already had an unofficial bedtime, the headmaster always came up quarter to nine and had him tucked in and well on the way to sleep by nine. Moreover he woke him on mornings. Seeing it on paper meant little to him. In addition, that nap time scheduled for after lunch wasn't in the least bit embarrassing. Even before his visit to the healer, the headmaster had insisted that he lie down after lunch.

Sleeping was not mandatory, as far as the headmaster was concerned he could pass the time reading or playing as long as it was done quietly, but inevitably, Harry curled up on his bed and slept. It made little difference to him therefore that the potions master had moved to made it official. Besides those potions he took at lunch did make him drowsy, it was for his own benefit. All in all Harry found himself quite grateful for the schedule. It was nice to know what was expected of him at each part of the day. It gave his life an order that was appreciable.

However now, after he had put away his schedule and spent half an hour tidying an already neat bedroom and playroom, he was at a lost as to what to do. He had his toys to play with and that last puzzle was not quite completed yet, but somehow, he had grown accustomed to having someone overlook him, at least for his morning session and barely had he added another row to the emerging picture did he stop. It didn't feel quite right without Professor Snape drilling him about the design or the headmaster peeking over his shoulder, somehow always finding an elusive peace. No, the game was not giving him any satisfaction currently, and with a sigh he pushed it away.

Maybe he could explore, he thought. He had yet to venture down into the basement and it certainly was not off-limits. In less than a minute Harry was downstairs, frowning at the staircase. The thing went up not down and unless wizarding houses were completely different from muggles, he was certain that the room he desired was below ground level. Pacing back and forth, Harry drew from his memory the layout of the house trying to decide just where the basement could be located. Back and forth he paced, unconsciously widening his travelling distance until abruptly, he heard a dull croak, like an unoiled hinge creaking as a door was forced open.

He blinked in surprise as he looked to his left before his mouth dropped. There, behind the staircase was a hole. Actually he saw when he took a second look, it was a pair of doors opened outwards. He had found the basement by pacing? Wondering at the ingenuity of it all, and making a note to ask the headmaster about it, Harry peered downwards. There was a step he saw, no where as large as the one that led upstairs, but it looked sturdy enough. And he did want to explore. Reassured Harry climbed down, startling a bit when the door closed above him and he was left mid-way down trapped in darkness.

However, before even a hint of a whimper could work its way from his throat, there was a soft whooshing sound and Harry nearly lost his balance as lanterns abruptly lit along the walls, guiding him downwards. "Magic," he murmured in wonder as he finally reached the bottom of the staircase.

Immediately he could see the signs of disuse of the room. Dust coveredeverything and immediately Harry's fingers started to itch for a dust-rag. Aunt Petunia would have clouted him good if he had left one tenth of the dirt that was in here around. He shook his head free of the thought as he looked around, the lanterns finally lighting so that the entire room was visible. There were no windows, not that he should have expected any underground, but, as he reminded himself, the dungeons in Hogwarts had magically charmed windows. It was not to off for him to expect the same down here.

Harry, for now, contented himself with looking around. There were huge piles deposited haphazardly around the room. Against one wall lay a multitude of shelves upon which laid items Harry could not have imagined if he tried. In another section appeared to be what amounted to a huge pile of cloths. Another twist and Harry stumbled upon precariously stacked trunks, one on top of the order. He did not even want to know how that pile had not tumbled.

He was stunned at the amount of disarray in the room. If he had not come down here from upstairs, he would have believed he had entered someone else's house. Everywhere else was immaculately clean, there was not a speck of dirt to be seen anywhere. And down here was dust so thick Harry had trouble discerning the colour of the floor. Everything upstairs was impeccably arranged, down here, it seemed that if someone had just opened the door now and again and tossed down whatever was unwanted.

Five minutes later Harry could take it no more. The room was filthy and he would not stand for it. Ten minutes later Harry's sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, his pants were considerably darker as he sat cross-legged on the floor, sorting through the clothing pile, dividing everything up as best as he could. He would see what was salvageable after.

Lost in his work Harry forgot about time nor the fact that technically he was out of hearing range should someone call for him. No, all that occupied his mind now was the clothing he was now starting to fold, surprised that, despite the condition he had found them in, once they were given a shake or two, the dust literally floated off, leaving them in a pristine condition.

He was forced to pay attention though when there was a thunderous noise coming down the step before he was grabbed. Turning, Harry found himself stiffening with fear when he found himself staring up at a furious Snape. Although he did not know why, Harry James Potter knew from the look on the professor's face that he was in a world of trouble.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A timeline to the story thus far. Hope it helps.
> 
> Term 1: Harry is attacked.
> 
> Caught after curfew by Albus
> 
> Term 2: Nothing note-worthy
> 
> Term 3: Death of the Dursleys
> 
> Harry's chooses Albus as his guardian

Although Severus would never admit it verbally, the work he had assigned himself for the day was not on his religiously followed itinerary for the summer. Indeed the potions selected were chosen solely because they required minimum attention from him. Once the initial steps were performed, the brews required simmering for at least five hours. And that five hour stretch of inactivity suited the man just fine. Rarely before had he found it necessary to adjust his schedule, but today, he found it necessary. It would not do after all, for him to lock himself away in the comfort of his laboratory while an underweight pre-teen was left unsupervised for the long hours it would take him to brew Dreamless Sleep potions.

Honestly, Snape was a bit annoyed with himself. Why was he going out of his way to accommodate the son of James Potter? When Albus had gained custody of the boy, Severus had sworn that his everyday life would not be disturbed by the brat's presence. Nevertheless, despite that vow, he found himself here, tearing himself away from his precious brewing to ensure that Potter had company until his guardian returned. Why was he catering to the child? Severus asked himself this question as he deftly diced lacewings and rough chopped slugs. Potter would be fine on his own his logical side pointed out. The boy was eleven; surely he could mind himself for a few hours?

However, that train of thought had given him little comfort, and indeed, Severus grimaced as his mind threw him back to earlier that morning. Why had he indulged the child so, and just what made him sit with Potter every day, watching the child amuse himself with whatever little game caught his attention? That first day was justifiable he allowed. That was when the brat had believed himself to be part house-elf and the potions master had been concerned that Potter would faster polish the puzzle pieces than assemble them. Moreover, the questions he had asked were not to stimulate the boy's mind and increase his pleasure in the activity. Those inquiries had simply been made so that he could gauge Potter's mental state.

And as for that pat on the head he had given him, plus that ridiculously parental act of buttoning his shirt – no he had not grown soft. It was obvious that the brat was not skilled enough to do such a task. Why on earth had Albus insisted on so many button downs for the child in the first place? That old man's idea of children's clothing left a lot to be desired. No wonder Potter had fumbled them! Before living here, the boy had only worn oversized hand-me-downs. Contrastingly, at Cottage House (ridiculous name, he huffed) Potter's wardrobe was prep-like at best because of Dumbledore's old-fashioned mindset. Not that he himself would have done much better in selecting the boy's clothing he allowed. Had the task been left to him, Potter would be running around the place in shades of black. However, at least he would have gotten him more age appropriate clothes. Tee shirts and comfortable durable jumpers. Plus many pairs of those rough legged pants that seemed to prevent many a scraped knee.

By the time Severus drew himself from his thoughts, he had automatically assembled all of the cut ingredients into neat piles near to the bubbling cauldrons. In addition to his thoughts, he had come to the decision that his vow was still in tact. He was not growing closer to Potter in any way. His attention towards the boy was still as he had strived for it to be. He was simply ensuring that Albus did not spoil the boy rotten. He was the voice of reason in the household, and, he supposed, if that meant that he had to do occasionally some extra tasks in the rearing of the boy, he would undertake it.

Absently he washed his hands, scrubbing at them deftly even as he checked the time. A little over an hour had elapsed since he had left the boy in his bedroom. That time was long enough for a regular child to get into mischief he noted as he quickly wiped down his workstation. But then again, Potter was not a regular child. However, instead of comforting him, that thought only made the potions master wipe just a tad faster. What had he been thinking leaving Potter alone? The brat may have taken it as an indication to let loose his inner elf and was probably half way through an eight-course meal.

Biting off an oath, Severus settled for the usually unthinkable and waved away the remainder of the mess, breaking his own rules about his work-place being a magic free zone. The things Potter makes me do, he grimaced as he stalked from the room, apparating from there directly into the kitchen. In the split second it took him to arrive, the dark haired wizard braced himself to chastise soundly the pre-teen. The rebuking words faded abruptly however when he encountered a clean empty kitchen with no sign of a short messy haired boy in sight.

"Thank Merlin," he breathed softly, relieved in spite of himself.

Maybe they had gotten through to him after all and the child had finally understood his role. Markedly calmer now, Severus entered the living room at a sedate pace, this time preparing himself to deliver a round of praise onto Potter for his good behaviour. Nevertheless, the potions master was once again left confused when an empty room met him. Where was the lump of child that should be on that empty spot on the rug? For a long moment Severus stared at the spot, as if by doing so the missing child would suddenly materialise before him.

Where on earth was Harry Potter?

Without fail, the boy could be found here before lunch, legs pumping idly behind him while he hummed and worked at whatever it was he had before him. There was never any deviation from that, and the potions master sighed at the bother of it all. The one day Potter had been left on his own, the boy had decided to change his routine. Severus had to remind himself that technically the child had done nothing wrong (save having him traipse all over the house) but still, he could not be scolded for it. Indeed, the man felt slightly proud. Perhaps finally Potter had decided to put his playroom to use he reasoned.

Ten minutes later though, Severus was no longer calm. Potter was nowhere to be found. His rooms were empty and a look through the windows showed no signs of him under that tree he favoured. A kernel of nervousness was creeping though the man's body, and currently it was with controlled panicked strides that Severus raced through the other rooms of the house, hoping that the boy had settled upon a bout of naughtiness and had wandered into a forbidden room. However, he was nowhere to be found, nowhere.

Once more in the kitchen, the man was well on his way into a bout of panic. Where had the boy gone? Had he run away...decided that this life was not for him after all and had made a break for it the second he had gotten an opportunity? Severus fervently hoped that that was not the case. Potter was tuned into the property's wards now and could freely leave it. If he had chosen too...

The professor quickly dismissed the thought, reaching for his wand.

"Point me Potter," he ground out, his tone slightly strained.

If the wand pointed outside, he would head in that direction until he found the child. And after that, he and Potter would have a long discussion on the consequences of running away. By the time he was through with the menace, he thought with a grim smile, the brat would not even think of leaving again.

The wand was now rotating, picking up momentum in a move that had Snape arching a brow. The longer it took to settle, the more the man's anger grew. Worrying was not an emotion the stoic, sarcastic man was used to. Severus Snape did not worry. Consequently, his body struggled to process the unfamiliar emotion, and when that failed, went about changing it into one with which he was more accustomed – anger. All of his concern for Potter was slowly morphing, fuelling the rage that was building in him as Severus imagined the boy running about recklessly, no doubt putting himself into harm's way.

Well that would be stopped immediately!

Finally (and with just seconds left before Severus was about to break the thing), the ebony wand stopped facing east...before slowly moving so that all of the cardinal points in turn were indicated.

"What in the world?"

Severus' frown deepened as he forcibly drew forward his knowledge about the locator charm. The odd movement meant that Potter was still in the general vicinity of the house, except that that location could not be verified. Where in Merlin's name had he got to, Severus thought darkly, once a hint of his anger decreasing at the recognition that he had not run away. Still, he had wandered somewhere out of bounds, but where exactly? He hadn't been in the offices, nor his storage rooms, and the charm on the greenhouse hadn't gone off...

It took a minute before Severus could settle upon his location. The little menace, he growled as he stalked forward. Surely, of all the rooms Albus had warned him of, that was the room he chose to go in? There was the son of James Potter for you, he thought grimly. Well he would put an end to that in a short time. But how had he got into there in the first place, Severus pondered as he reached the right wall, and started tapping a quick sequence against it. Had Albus shown him it and somehow Potter had remembered the pattern? Whatever method, he would ensure that Potter did not do it again. As he finished the pattern, a soft ticking noise abounded for a moment before the wall melded away. Immediately lights illuminated the entrance, and, pocketing his wand, Severus entered.

As he had deduced, the spawn of Potter was in the room.

Seated there noncholantly amidst a pile of rubbish, Potter was calmly sorting through clothing. How dare he! While he had been running around like an imbecile in search of him, the brat had been here, humming that ridiculous tune of his as he worked. How dare he! He had been worrying over the boy, while he sat down here, perfectly contented, without even realising that he had been effectively trapped. And what if there had been anything dangerous down here? Potter could have died before someone even noticed he had gone! Merlin that boy needed common sense drilled into him, and there and then Severus decided that he would pound it into his mind if it was the last thing he ever did.

Almost before he realised it, Severus was at the bottom of the staircase, kicking aside whatever was in his path before he reached the menace. Without a word, he reached down and grabbed the boy, uncaring of the startled cry he made. Spinning him roughly, his dark eyes bore down into suddenly frightened emerald ones.

"P-professor?" the boy stuttered, voice frightened.

He deserved to be scared, Severus thought darkly.

Seconds later his logical side kicked in and struggled to rise above his anger, showing him that currently, Potter was afraid of him and not of being in trouble. That grim reminder leant him the strength to take several calming breaths that served only to take the edge off his anger. Not trusting himself to speak without losing control, he settled for an alternative. Without a word, and swifter than the boy could comprehend, he lifted him, settling him on his hip as he swept up the staircase and out of the cursed room. Once clear of it, he dropped him unceremoniously on his feet, glaring at him. He forced another calming breath when the boy flinched and stepped backwards.

He could not deal with the boy in his current state.

"My office. Now."

They were the only words he risked saying lest he release an undoubtedly deserved tirade on the boy. Luckily for his sake, the boy turned and fled, his steps shaky as he fairly flew up the stairs. After a long moment, Severus climbed as well, heading to his bedroom. There he reached into a cabinet and quickly uncapped several calming draughts. Methodically, he swallowed them in large gulps. The first did nothing but take the edge off his anger. The second left him mildly annoyed. The third actually left him even tempered and so, after much debate, he replaced the forth.

He was very lucky that none of the ingredients were harmful in large dosages, he acknowledged as he dropped heavily unto his bed, bending forward so that his face was cradled in his hands. He did not appreciate the tumult of emotions Potter had forced upon him the past few minutes, did not appreciate it in the slightest. Persons like him – ones who went about their daily lives with semi-apathy, disliked being tossed into a sea of emotions, and it was exactly that that the man felt he had waded through. Anger was not uncommon to him, stress certainly. But worry and anxiety – those emotions were beyond his usual spectre and admittedly he had almost lost control for a few minutes. But still, the sight of the child sitting there had thrown him for a loop.

How dare Potter be calm when he had been anxious for his safety? And just whywas it that no matter how many games were thrown his way, Potter still looked most content when cleaning. Those thoughts ran amok through the man's mind until finally, with a firm shove, he locked them away to a corner of his mind. He would deal with them later when he did not have a naughty eleven-year-old waiting for him.

More than that, just what was he supposed to do with the boy? Sighing he dropped back against the mattress, staring at the ceiling. Once more, he asked himself how Potter had accessed the room. Had the old coot shown him? Somehow, he could no longer believe that possible. Albus would never have shown him into that place – well not if he had an ounce of sense that is. That only left the possibility that Potter had somehow gotten into the room on his own. With his emotions set aside now, Severus could see that his previous intentions of punishing the boy were misguided – at least without him talking to Potter first. He needed more information before he could set a punishment. Potter had disobeyed him, that fact was well decided. It was the extent of that disobedience however that needed to be defined.

Well there was no better time than the present, he decided, cracking open eyelids he had not even realised had drifted close. A quick time check showed that almost forty minutes had passed since he had sent Potter up. About thirty minutes too much, he decided as he headed for the third floor. He should not have left him alone for so long he knew, but still, it was better to have Potter in a state of nervousness for a few extra minutes rather than have dealt with him when he was not in the frame of mind to be reasonable. Yes, this was better, he supposed.

Knocking perfunctory at the door, Severus entered the room, his eyes automatically drifting to the corner of the room where and extra armchair sat. Potter was not on it however. As his eyes scanned the room, a chill ran down his spine and abruptly Severus wished he had taken that fourth calming draught...along with a stiff scotch.

For currently, Potter was bent over his desk, trousers to his ankles and a sturdy ruler across the small of his back.

*

It was the only reason Harry could think of for the man to send him up here like this. Snape was obviously like his Uncle in matters like these, Harry deduced. He was mildly confused by the calmness currently running through his veins. He had been terrified before in those few seconds after Snape had grabbed him so viciously. More than that, he had downright quaked when the professor had literally carried him up the staircase and stared at him with an expression that would scare a troll. Harry had been whimpering as he had scrambled up the stairs, entering for the first time the man's office.

Then he could concentrate on nothing but the raw fear he felt. He had been bad – if the man was mad, it was the only possibility. He did not know what he had done, but it was all he could think off. In some way he had offended his professor, and this was the price he had to pay. He had to atone for his freakishness, a small voice whispered to him, and seconds after that small voice had spoken, Harry had gone numb. Every last ounce of his panic had fled him and with it his fear. Suddenly the preteen was looking around at his surroundings through dim green eyes, doing an inventory of the room.

He had to atone for his freakiness and hope it would be enough for the man to forgive him.

And so, even while knowing he had no right to and would undoubtedly garner himself more punishment, Harry riffled through the man's desk drawer until he came across a suitable implement. It was nowhere as strong or sturdy as his uncle's broad belt, but it would do. Besides, the professor seemed to be stronger than his uncle, if the easy way he had been lifted proved anything. If needs be, he was certain that the professor could swing the ruler harder, or even prolong his atonement as his aunt was want to do whenever he needed her correction.

The boy made no move to question these thoughts of his, and the instinctive way he went about fixing himself. Carefully putting the ruler aside, as if it were the most precious thing he had ever laid his hands upon, Harry cleared a suitable area of the man's desk, mentally adding it to his growing list. Disturbing the man's belongings...that alone warranted a good few strikes.

He could only hope he would be forgiven.

When, ten minutes later, the professor had yet to arrive Harry took it as confirmation that his actions were the right ones. Without a thought for modesty (for freaks deserved none), he dropped his trousers, before hesitating with his fingers hooked into the waistband of his underpants. His aunt preferred him clothed; his uncle liked him bare. Which would his professor prefer? In the end he kept the pants on. The most that could happen was the potions master adding an extra chastisement to his punishment, and that too would be deserved. Eyeing the cleared spot on the table carefully, Harry tiptoed in order to align himself with it, pausing only to grasp the ruler in his small hand.

Harry wriggled for a few seconds until he was properly situated, his upped body cradled against the polished wood while his feet dangled over the edge, his toes barely skimming the floor. Angling himself, he dropped the ruler onto the small of his back, the exact place where his uncle preferred his belt to be situated whenever Harry was required to bend over a chair back. There was nothing more for him to do now except await the leisure of the man who would provide his chastisement.

Vaguely Harry wondered if he would be in a similar position later as well, this time bent over the furniture of the headmaster for additional stripes to be added to his body as a result of his misbehaviour. He supposed that his guardian would, but feared not for it. It was most deserved after all. Briefly, a feeling flitted through Harry at the thought of his guardian. A small part of him that asked timidly if the man would truly do something like that to him. But that thought was fleeting and disappeared easily as the memory of Snape's anger returned to him. No, he had been freakish, angering the goodly man.

He must atone.

Those words reverberated through his mind in a variety of forms as he laid there motionless, one cheek against the cool wood as he awaited his punisher. Hopefully the man would see it fit to forgive him for his errors and, if not, hoped that the punishment would continue until he had achieved atonement. He deserved all that and more, freak boy that he was.

Finally the time had come he noted, when there was a brief sound from beyond before the door opened. His punisher was here. Alert now, Harry waited for it – the harsh breathing, the yelling and spittle that inevitably found his face no matter how far away his uncle was. And then there would be the pain – the biting lashes that would bruise his skin in some areas and cut in it others, leaving warm blood to ooze down his skin. Not that such a thought disturbed him. Flowing blood – a sign that even his body was offering penance for the actions he had committed. And the cries he inevitably made would need to be muffled he reminded himself for the neighbours did not deserve their day interrupted because of an atoning freak. It was all part of the ritual.

A ritual that was about to be performed again.

Or would it?

Amidst the daze Harry had fallen under since his climb up the stairs, an emotion broke through.

Confusion.

The ruler lifted off his back, but there was no pain. At the very least by now his underpants should have been tugged down, baring his pale skin to the man's eyes. However that was not the case; there was a clatter, the sound surprisingly similar to a piece of wood dropping. And then there were hands – shaky hands that settled on either side of his waist. He could not help the squawk of surprise that flew past his lips when he was pulled upright and he raised green eyes instinctively to question a potions master who looked several shades too pale.

That look of confusion remained constant as the boy stared blankly at the man. For now he was bending, that stern professor of his, bending to grasp the clothing still pooled at his ankles. Those hands, usually graceful in movement were trembling badly Harry saw. The man's next move broke him completely from his daze. His professor pulled his clothing up in one swift move, deftly fastening it.

A shiver ran through Harry at the move. The act seemed almost parental. Hadn't he seen his uncle do a similar thing for his deserving cousin so many times? That thought threw the boy into an even greater state of confusion as he felt as if he was surfacing slowly from a dream – a strange dream that made no sense. Where had all of that come from, he wondered, the whimper that passed his lips not even registering. The sound though, made the still bent man look at him in concern. Where had those feelings come from? The ones of him deserving to be beaten, of him being worthless. His uncle and aunt called him a freak, that much he remembered, but the rest...where had it come from?

He had never been beaten, not a single time. Yes he had been insulted, locked in his cupboard for days on end, but never had he been touched. But still, somehow he knew what he had felt had been real. Those thoughts – no one could simply make up to such an extent what he had felt. The resignation...the joy at his upcoming punishment. What had caused it? That disassociation from his self that had left him moving automatically, preparing himself for a beating that would let him atone.

Atone for what exactly?

It was too much, Harry thought, unconsciously reaching out to place shaking hands on the bent Professor's shoulders, barely noticing when the man's hands supported him. He was looking in the man's eyes, quietly crying out to him for help and clarity, for an insight into what he was feeling. And somehow he knew the man had heard him, for in an instant, the hands on his waist rose, and, grasping him under his armpits, the man stood, lifting him. Harry reacted instinctively, wrapping his legs around the man's sides and wound his arms around his neck. He pressed his face into a sturdy shoulder and whimpered once again at the chaos in his mind.


	15. Chapter 15

He was in his room. That was the first thought that flitted across Harry's mind as he sat up, automatically feeling for his glasses even as he tried to process what had happened. The professor had brought him here, that much he remembered. Those swift footsteps as the man had moved quickly from the third floor to the second, his surprisingly strong arms sturdy about his slender frame as he had been brought to his room. There had been a popping sound somewhere along the line, Harry noted vaguely, but he had not pondered much on it then.

It was with startling gentleness that his hands had been pried from around the man's neck and it had only been when the professor tapped gently on a thigh had Harry realised that he had been perched on the man's hip. He had been reluctant too, but after a second small tap, the eleven year old had relinquished his hold on the man, a shadow of a pout crossing his face as he was seated on his bed. A potion vial had been pressed against his lips he recalled, and he, too emotional to really care, had guzzled it down, not even thinking to grimace at the chalklike quality to it. He supposed it had been a calming potion, for a peacefulness that was not of his own doing had swept through his body and thankfully with it, the ferocity of his thoughts had receded, so much so that he could have met the man's eyes squarely, although his vulnerability was clearly evident in his troubled emerald gaze.

An indiscernible slew of words had flung from the man's lips but, judging from the tone of it, the professor had been mad. But obviously not at him, Harry had noted then, for the headmaster's name had been uttered copious amounts as well. He was confused though, and had been then as well. What had his condition have to do with his thoughtful, kind guardian?

However, he had been given no time to understand, or in truth to even contemplate asking a question, for the professor had moved so that he was looming over his small form, although surprisingly Harry had felt no fear at his close proximity. Truly, he had been half tempted to reach out and grasp handfuls of his dark robes, if only to have some contact with the stronger wizard. His musings had been distracted by the man speaking, his voice low and strangely soothing, but Harry could make neither heads nor tails of his words and instead murmured something that could pass as acquiescence.

Obviously, his professor had realised that talking was futile, for suddenly he had been pushed back until he was cradled against his warm bed. A tingle swept over his skin, something he had felt the headmaster cause before and so he knew without opening eyes that he had no idea had closed that his clothes had been exchanged for sleepwear. His last conscious memory before he had let himself be embraced in the cradle of sleep was of his glasses being taken for him and a gentle pressure against his forehead that remained until he was sound asleep.

Judging from how he felt now, Harry wagered that he had been asleep for two hours at the most. He sat still, staring at nothing in particular as he tentatively probed at his earlier episode. What had triggered those actions of his, he wondered, shuddering instinctively at the echo of disassociation to threatened to overwhelm him once again. He could not let it, he didn't know how or why he had lost control that first time, but he would not let it happen again. He let his eyes close as he forced himself to take deep calming breaths. The more conscious of himself he became, the more pressure was being exerted on his mind, as if there were something locked away, wanting feverishly to break out and torment him. But he could not let that happen. He had control of himself, and more particularly his mind. He would organise his thoughts so not to be affected like this again.

His mind was not the place for such chaotic thoughts, his cupboard was. His cupboard was nothing more than a dark cubicle that resided in the back of his mind. Harry had first invented that cupboard years before, during one of his more dire times, not that he could particularly recall the experience. All that he could consciously remember was that there had been a time when he had been plagued nightly by terrors the likes of which was want to make him scream so much that the sound penetrated easily past his cupboard door, awakening the entire household.

His uncle had been none to please about that and after several incidents; Harry had created his mental cupboard and put everything he rather not dwell on in that secure place. It had taken him years to develop the method however, but by the time he was nine he had all but perfected it to the point that memory of his cupboard sometimes failed him. Unbeknownst to the boy, with his 'training', he had started to sift automatically through his memories, depositing any of them that threatened his relative sanity.

That time he had seen a mother with two children, one who was obviously not her child by blood but nonetheless had been treated equally – that had had to be stored away. He had had no choice in the matter, not when he had started to compare his life to that few seconds in which he had seen the family. No, wondering about that had done nothing but earned him a thorough lashing for failure to completely clear out the kitchen cabinets as he had been bid. And there were other little memories, some horrific and others the kind that people would smile over in a minute of despair. But there was no differentiation between those memories for one Harry Potter. Every last one of them, no matter how they could be categorised only brought him pain under the Dursley household and thus he chose to put them in his cupboard and lock them away. Out of sight and out of mind was indeed the situation here, for, without those memories he had finally become the perfect little freak his relatives had wanted.

However, currently Harry was strongly aware of his mental cupboard and the aid it could afford him now against the feelings assuaging him that were so overwhelming that his subconscious could not have taken care of the problem for him while he had slept. And so, he was undertaking the task manually, carefully sifting through everything and locking it away, until finally, after ten minutes, his mind was silent. With a contented smile, the eleven year old opened his eyes. His worries were gone. Locked away until he chose to release them was all of the fear he had felt earlier.

His confusion about his strangely robotic actions?

Gone.

The ritual he had unknowingly undertaken of baring himself and laying across the man's desk?

Gone.

As far as Harry Potter was concerned, he, in his dread of being punished had simply worked himself into a full-fledged panic that had left the potions master with no choice but to put him to bed until he calmed down. Yes, his recollection was slightly fuzzy at the edges, but this time, Harry did not question it in the least. He knew what caused that mild confusion he felt, he knew that he had put away some things in the cupboard of his.

Vaguely, he wondered if the slight fuzziness he felt now was similar to that which he had felt off and on in the past few days. However, he found himself dismissing that thought easily. Until now, he didn't think that he had locked anything away in the hiding place of his. However now there was no time for further contemplation, for his bedroom door was opening, to reveal the potions master, who stared at him with mild surprise. Apparently, he had not expected him to be awake.

Before the man could speak though, Harry was on his feet, crossing the distance until he could stand before the man, his gaze firmly cast towards the floor. Before the smidgen of courage he could gather left him, Harry wet his dry lips and spoke softly. "I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused you today sir. I'll accept my punishment for going in the basement, I swear I will."

*

Almost immediately, Severus could tell that there was something different about Potter. He certainly was not acting like the over-emotional child he had been a scarce two hours later, and somehow the potions master knew instinctively that it had nothing to do with the nap he had put the boy down for anything. While people professed that there not a problem that a good sleep could not fix, the wizard strongly doubted that this was the case this time.

He had spent the past few hours firmly entrenched in a pensieve, reliving constantly those few minutes he had spent with Potter in his office, analysing it from all possible angles to deduce what had led to the boy's reaction. The boy's thoughts had broadcasted themselves loudly so much so that Severus could hardly have prevented himself from being privy to them even if he had tried to ignore them. Not that he could have anyway. Those thoughts that Potter had emitted had downright scared the stoic man.

There was no way around that fact. There was something about hearing the thoughts of one so young and realising that the boy eagerly awaited punishment, more so pain. Eleven year olds were supposed to pout and try (no matter how ineffectually) to wheedle their way out of punishment, and not only had Potter not done that, the boy had gone a step further and actually prepared himself for a thorough lashing. But what had disturbed him the most was what had happenedafter he had removed the child from the compromising position. Even as he had fixed the suddenly trembling boy's clothing, he was aware of a marked change in his thoughts.

However, before he could even contemplate investigating the abrupt thought change, he had been overwhelmed by the boy's confusion and within seconds Severus had been forced to slam shut every last occlumency shield he possessed so not to be overwhelmed by the chaos that was Harry Potter's mind. Was it no wonder therefore, given how much energy it took for him to retain control given what he was up against, that Potter faltered at it and had turned wide pleading emerald eyes to him?

The blatant cry for help in it had pushed aside every other instinct, and so, despite how uncharacteristic it be for him, Severus had helped the boy in the only way he knew how. Securing Potter on his hip, he had awkwardly rubbed the small of his back, the gesture smoothening out when he saw that it was having a mild effect on the child he cradled. Continuing the gesture, he had walked until he was in the boy's room. A quick summon had a potion in his hands and he had fed it to the tormented boy in small sips until all had been consumed.

What he had expected then was for Potter to calm enough for him to broach the subject of his confusion with him, but scarcely had he begun speaking did Potter's eyes turn glassy and his eyelids drooped. In all honesty, he should have expected that, he supposed. Potter was a far cry from an adult who could logically decipher their emotions. He reacted on instinct, and when the pressure became too much for him, his body all but shut down, putting him into a light doze from which he would rest until his mind had calmed sufficiently.

Recognising this, Severus had made quick work of transfiguring his clothing into something suitable, but even then it was clear that the boy, although tired, would not succumb to sleep. The very confusion his body was trying to avoid was undoubtedly scaring him enough so that he was afraid that it would follow him into the realm of sleep. And thus, no matter how annoying, Severus had found himself duty bound to comfort the boy and allow him to drift to sleep peacefully. The only problem was that he had no idea how to go about doing it. He never put someone to bed (well not beyond dumping them on it) but he knew instinctively that simply telling the child to "...sleep brat..." with his usual curtness would not have the desired outcome.

So, how exactly was he supposed to comfort Albus' ward?

_There's mommy's good boy. Close your eyes Sevvy, mommy's here...shush...daddy won't hurt us tonight. ___

That soft melodic voice, one that he had not heard since his childhood, drifted to him from the recesses of his mind. At his age, Severus was not prone to sentimentality, and so he analysed the awakened memory logically, trying to discern why it would come to him now of all times. And surprisingly, it did have a purpose. He was a child once after all, and once upon a time, he had Eileen Prince-Snape, a mother who had done her best to raise her son properly despite the turbulent environment that had been their home. Eileen may not have been around for a large portion of his life, but from what the potions master could recall, the time she had spent with him had been precious, and never once had she failed to comfort him if needed. 

He knew now what Harry needed, Severus recognised, and although his movement was hesitant at first, the man bent over the child, his hand faintly shaking as he laid it against Potter's forehead, surprised by how his hand covered almost the entire expanse. He froze when the eleven year old's entire body stiffened, but after a second Potter relaxed. Bolstered by that, and the small sigh that escaped the boy's lips, he mimicked what he could remember his mother doing for him. Slowly, gently, the man's calloused hands brushed against the forehead of the boy, offering him silent comfort, long after Potter had fallen asleep. 

How long he had bent there in that awkward position he did not recall, but eventually he had roused himself from the little stupor he had fallen into and left the room swiftly. He found himself cursing the affectionate action even as he noted that giving the affection did not seem as alien as he had thought comforting a child - especially a Potter - would be. He refused to dwell further on that thought however and so he had thrown himself back into his office, and after withdrawing the memory all but dove into the pensieve, putting all his energies into that. 

When he had finally emerged to say that the wizard was annoyed at Dumbledore would be an understatement. Obviously, the man had mucked up the memory removal, he thought, dropping heavily onto his chair. He fought against the urge to summon himself a stiff drink. He had indulged himself in the spirits since Potter's arrival, but had decided the night before that that habit had to be nipped immediately. Experience had taught him that alcohol was not something to become reliant on, especially if a glass of the substance was poured with the intention of relieving the pressures of one's life. That was the first step towards addiction and the potions master was damned if he adopted anything from his bastard of a father. 

And so he had settled for a good few minutes of meditation until he centred himself and his thoughts. His anger would be left for a certain wizard whenever he decided to return to the house. The last thing Potter needed was another upset and the last thing he needed was an upset Potter clinging to him for comforting. Thus he decided that he would approach the boy with the gentle sternness he reserved for when he found the child mildly amusing. 

A check of the time showed him that a little over two hours had passed since the initial incident and, noting that the lunch hour had passed he arranged something with a Hogwart's elf before leaving to go to Potter. He would wake the boy, he decided, if only to swallow his luncheon supplement and at least a few bites of a roast beef sandwich before he allowed him to sleep again. Hopefully he would sleep through his usual rest hour as well and the headmaster would be back by that time so that he could dump the entire matter on his head. 

However, as he had and would undoubtedly continue to learn, it was never a good idea to make concrete plans about anything when Potter was involved. For no sooner had he cracked the boy's door, intent on checking in on him quickly before fetching his potions, did he find a pair of emerald eyes meeting his. Before he could even process the fact that Potter was awake, far less start analysing that strange air of calmness around him, the eleven year old was approaching him – completely disregarding the rule they had established that morning and mumbled an apology. 

Now, almost every student of Hogwarts knew how the potions master operated. He absolutely loathed apologies before the person had atoned for them. Apologising at the start of the detention meant little to him. Indeed (unless it was some Hufflepuff with tears in their eyes...and even then he steeled himself) he had long been of the opinion that such apologies were meant as a final ditch effect to avoid chastisement. He never accepted lamentations until afterwards, and even then, he could not be certain that the sentiments were not expressed for the sole purpose of ensuring that the punishment would not be extended. 

And he had half the mind to tell Potter just that, after all, the boy had served a detention with him before – although admittedly that was before the boy's relatives had died. The changed circumstances, he allowed, might have confused Potter enough that he crossed his rules for school with these here, but moments later, the inappropriately murmured apology was the least of the man's concerns, when he heard what the boy was apologising for. 

Basement? 

Suddenly the memories of his anger earlier in the day rose again, along with the questions he had meant to get from the boy in his office. Potter thought that he had been in the basement? Now it was Severus' turn to be confused and he stared blankly down at the child. Well, it did make sense, his mind pointed out. Over one babbling session or another, Albus had mentioned telling Harry that the basement was his to explore. However, as he should have noticed then, the old coot had mentioned nothing about telling him how to access it. 

It all made sense now, Severus realised as all the pieces fell into place. Potter had believed himself to be in the basement. That was why he had been perfectly contented when he had descended on him. After all, a basement was in no way harmful right? Potter honestly did not know that he had had no way out of the place and would have been stuck there had Severus not realised it was the only place he could have been. However, that did not explain how the boy had accessed the room in the first place. 

"Potter," he began suddenly, his voice causing a messy haired head to peek up at him. "You were not in the basement and that was the reason that I was angry at you." 

His blunt statement was meant to either confirm or deny what he had deduced. If Potter's face read of confusion, then he was innocent, but if even a shadow of guilt crossed his face, the child would find himself on the end of Severus' ire. Luckily for the child, after a long moment of observing him, Severus decided that the boy truly had no idea where he had been. 

"I wasn't in the basement sir?" Harry questioned hesitantly, his voice uncertain. 

"No you were not," Severus agreed, folding his arms loosely and resting against the wall. "Potter, the room you were in is unofficially referred to as the Room of Banishment."

*

Room of Banishment?

Harry blinked at the odd term, his head cocking slightly as he finally met his professor's gaze fully. He was still curious about his punishment and was, quite frankly, looking forward to getting it over with, but he had to admit, his curiosity was aroused. He hadn't been in the basement? But weren't basements always located under a house? And the door that had opened for him had certainly gone downwards, he noted.

"I don't understand sir," he admitted softly, trusting the man to answer his questions. Professor Snape was actually quite good at that, Harry had long learned. As long as you approached him at the right time, he was amendable to answering questions, no matter how silly Harry thought them to be. It seemed that the man appreciated someone trying to increase his or her knowledge. He could only hope that this was one such time for the man.

Luckily, it was.

Harry jumped slightly when the Professor's hand wrapped around his arm, but he moved willingly when the man turned and propelled him so that he was seated on his beanbag while the man claimed the same chair he had used earlier in the day.

"Potter," the man said, in a borderline lecturing tone, "you were not in the basement silly child. Did Albus never tell you how to find it?"

Harry shook his head in negative. He had asked about it, a night or two before when the old wizard had been in the process of tucking the sheets around him. However, the headmaster had only given him that twinkling smile before telling him that half the fun was in the discovery. And he told his teacher this, although his eyes widened and he withdrew slightly at the low growl that passed the man's thin lips.

"To access the basement Potter," the potions master was saying currently, a strained edge to his tone, "you must rub the silver ornament handle on the hallway's walls. Three strokes will open a portal in the floor which will take you there."

"Then why did those doors open for me sir?" he asked honestly, even while a part of him wondered if the headmaster had expected him to find the basement in the next century or not. Really, Harry could not see himself going around randomly rubbing an ornament. Well, if he had chores he probably would have as he was dusting it, but otherwise no. He would never have found the room unless he had been told. "And why were you angry with me for being down there?"

Harry watched as the wizard took several deep breaths, as though he was gathering his thoughts and deciding on the best way to answer him. Finally, when Harry was ready to tell him not to bother, the potions master responded.

"Potter, surely you have seen by now someone banish something? Be it a piece of trash, books or any other thing they do not wish to see again? You have? Good. Now, despite popular belief, such banished items do not just disappear. They are instead transported to a location where they remain infinitely, until they rot away or are retrieved. All magical dwellings possess such an area however; no one really knows anymore exactly where the rooms exist in their dwelling.

"Most households were constructed eons ago you, see and the makers of these places have long since passed, usually without passing on the knowledge of the room's location. Consequently, the belief of banished items being lost permanently came about. Albus however, is old enough that he is aware of the locations of banishment rooms throughout his properties and has shared that information with me.

"That Potter, is the reason behind my earlier anger. I believed that Albus had either told you of, or had shown you the room and you had taken it upon yourself to go back there. The Room of Banishment is not a safe area Potter, for several reasons. Putting aside the fact that something dangerous could have been sent there, there is also the fact that as the room is laced thoroughly with magic, you could have been trapped down there.

"Did you not notice that the doorway disappeared behind you? It is one of the tricks of the room; once you enter, you cannot leave without knowledge of the exit or alternatively without casting a spell to keep the doorway open to you. Were you an adult and strong enough magically, you may be able to override the spells of the room and apparate out, but few are strong enough to truly do so.

"As you may realise from what I've said, people have died in banishment rooms child. I had not considered that you did not realise where you had wandered, and it angered me that you were down there mucking around, putting your life at risk. I understand now however that it was truly accidental, although how you even gained access to it in the first place is beyond me."

The man's long winded explanation had the child stumped for long moments, and Harry took his time processing the information, glad that the potions master was in no rush to hurry him along and actually allowed him to work through it. So, he had not been in the basement as he had thought, but instead in a room that could have kept him trapped forever. That thought scared the eleven year old and he found himself shuddering slightly. Whilst down there he had felt little fear, indeed he had been comfortable sorting through the piles. However to be stuck down there forever...that was a scary situation to ponder on.

Harry found himself reprising his original opinion of the first time he had arrived here at Cottage House. The place was confusing, and it was slightly disconcerting to learn that, unlike what he had previously thought, there was more to be wary of from the house than getting lost by a single doorway that led to different rooms or floors. He was not too keen on the situation, he admitted, and professed that fear to the man.

Surprisingly the look the professor shot him could almost pass as a sympathetic one, and despite himself, a small smile tugged on Harry's mouth. It was the first time he had sat down with the potions master like this, the only time he had actively opened himself up to him, coming to him with little insecurities like he had with the headmaster. It was...nice. The potions master had been angry with him, but not because of his behaviour. He had been angry because he had believed that Harry had put himself deliberately in danger, and that was something completely different from what the boy was used too.

Suddenly an urge built up inside the boy, and so, even as the potions master, in his usual gruff way was assuring him that there was little to fear from the house as long as he stayed in safe areas, he reacted to what he was feeling. Before the potions master could even discern his movement, Harry had stood from his seat and approached him, nipping his lip tentatively. He was aware that the man had stopped mid-sentence, but by then he had succumbed to his urge and had wrapped his arms around the man in a hug.

"Thank you sir," he whispered, resting his head against the man's shoulder.

He was not in the least perturbed by the way the professor stiffened, for had he not reacted the same way whenever the headmaster hugged him? But still, he was gaining comfort from the act and so he relaxed, breathing in a scent that was as unique to the man as the scent of lemons was to the headmaster. And then, he felt it. Slowly at first and gently, but gradually the potions master's legs parted enough for him to slip closer and hug the man tighter. The embrace was being returned, as strong hands wrapped around his slender torso and held him tight. A small smile worked its way onto his lips as he felt Professor Snape's head bend until his chin was resting lightly among Harry's messy hair.

"I do not hug Potter," the man growled from above, but somehow the words only made the boy chuckle and hold tighter.

"No you don't sir," he agreed softly, "but you hold don't you?"

"Cheeky brat," the man huffed, withdrawing slightly, although he did not shirk off Harry's hands, nor did he completely remove his.

The smile on Harry's lips remained at the slight softening of the Professor's features. It was subtle at best but it was there. The lines at the side of the man's mouth were almost completely absent and his eyes were a tad tenderer than he was used to. "Thank you sir," he repeated, his voice soft but certain.

"Whatever for?" the man asked, arching his brow at him.

"For caring," he murmured.

The man harrumphed and abruptly released him, although the expression in his eyes remained. "What I care about," he said firmly, "is getting you downstairs for lunch. You won't grow by skipping meals and quite frankly, your scrawniness is annoying."

With that said the man rose, gently setting him aside so that he could head for the door. "Be down in ten minutes Potter, and change out of those clothes."

The change in the man's demeanour did not faze Harry much, indeed Harry found himself oddly amused by it. "My punishment sir?" he asked before the man closed the door.

Snape turned, arching that brow at him. "You may be a Gryffindor Potter," he drawled, "but I hope to cultivate some Slytherin qualities in you. Asking for punishment, you are a strange child. Nevertheless, I have a few cauldrons that need scrubbing."

"After lunch then?" Harry inquired, not at all perturbed by the task.

"Oh no Potter," Snape rebutted with a small smirk playing at his lips, "you like cleaning; you'd enjoy the task too much. You'll sit there and watch me clean, that should be torture enough for you."

The man's pronouncement was so strange and yet oddly true that the man closed the door amidst a peal of laughter from the child. As he headed downstairs, Severus noted several things. The first was that hugging – no, holding a child was not such a bad thing. The second was that a child's laughter was not the most unpleasant thing he had ever heard, but thirdly and most importantly, was the fact that that was the first time he had ever had a complete conversation with the boy without him stuttering one single time.

  



	16. Chapter 16

Dumbledore had finally returned from Hogwarts – a good few hours later than he had hoped – only to find that Harry had already been sent to bed and that his minder, Severus, was in an obviously bad mood — if the menacing look on his face was anything to go by. Momentarily, Albus had been tempted to floo back to Hogwarts and wait out the man's anger, but either his occlumency shields had been lowered, or his ward knew him too well. Scarcely had he twitched did Severus react, jamming the floo network with a wave of his wand before directing a chilling glare to his employer.

Even as the elder wizard contemplated on the best way to subvert the anger that was undoubtedly bubbling within Severus did a vague sense of annoyance rise within him. Was it really too much to ask the man to look after Harry for a bit without him turning on him like this? Honestly, Albus was certain that Harry had been on his best behaviour. The boy was, without a doubt, the sweetest, most well behaved child he had ever had the pleasure of interacting with, and he would willingly bet every last one of his galleons that Harry had not done anything so great as to necessitate such an angry response from the man.

Minutes later, however, Albus found himself correcting those thoughts after Severus had all but dragged him to the third floor (obviously too angry to apparate) and had – with a firm tap – directed him towards the pensieve.

"No need for such roughness, Severus," Albus said mildly as he rubbed pointedly at a sore spot on his shoulder.

"Look," Severus ordered tersely, gesturing sharply to the pensieve.

Albus glanced from the man, to the pensieve before shaking his head lightly. He held up a hand when Severus made to snap at him. "I'll look at it in a moment," he told him in a placating tone, "however I refuse to plunge into a pensieve without having at least some warning of what I am to see."

The potions master's only response was to glare at him, causing the headmaster to sigh and rock back against the edge of the table. What exactly had gotten into his eldest? Surely Harry had not given him grief, so much so that he felt that words were not enough to express it? Albus doubted that, which meant that the problem fell with Severus.

"Come, sit," he bid presently, gesturing towards the free chair near to where he was reclining.

"The pensieve," Severus began, his tone still terse.

Albus cut him off before he could continue. "I said I will watch the memories in a bit and I will Severus. Currently my concern is you and whatever has you so upset."

"I am not – "

"Don't deny, my boy," he cut in smoothly, waggling a finger at him. "Tell me, or better yet, why don't you go fetch us some tea things? We haven't had tea together for a while..."

"Three days," the potions master snapped, "and that is besides the point here. The pen-"

"Yes, yes, the pensieve," Albus nodded. "I'll get to it momentarily. But, for now, tea? I will even watch it in the time it takes you to set up a tray and then we will have a nice discussion alright? I want to here all about what my boys did while I was away."

"I'm not your boy," Severus said stiffly, even as he turned to leave.

A bit of the cheerful aura about the man faded. "I want you to be," he whispered, shaking his head softly.

The potions master hesitated, long enough for Albus to worry that he had been heard, but, instead of commenting, Severus only snapped once again. "Watch the damn thing old man. It's important," before he closed the door firmly.

"That one needs to learn respect," he frowned, before dismissing the matter.

So many things to choose between, he pondered, as he idly traced a finger around the magical device. He was half-tempted to ignore it for a few minutes – just long enough to check on Harry, but ultimately he decided against it. "It must be important," he reasoned, tapping the side of it, "and Harry's already asleep."

With that in mind, the headmaster allowed himself to fall into the pensieve and observe exactly what had Severus so upset. He forced himself to be objective as he wallowed through the man's memories of the day. The first memory was touching, and absently, the wizard wondered if Severus had meant for him to see such a domestic scene between himself and the boy. It seemed like something he would try to hide.

Nevertheless, he watched it in its entirety with a tender smile, loving the way Harry exhibited trust in the potions master. It was good that they could get along amicably without him present. Yet, that raised the question of what had angered Severus. Judging from this memory alone, Albus was want to predict that their day had been peaceful and thus his curiosity increased as he moved ahead to figure out exactly what had gone wrong. Suddenly, as he was half way through his viewing, the headmaster suddenly felt every drop of blood drain from his face as he discovered exactly what had been so troubling. And so, it was a confused and guilt-ridden man that emerged from the pensieve a good quarter of an hour later.

Severus was sipping on a cup of tea when he dropped heavily into his chair. The potions master said nothing for a long moment. Neither did he move save to thrust at the elder wizard a cup of the tea he had sent him to make. The headmaster gripped it automatically and sipped, an artificial calmness immediately running through him. Severus had brewed one of his famous tea blends then, he noted idly, and yet the man found himself eternally grateful for that was exactly what he needed.

How good of his boy to think of what he needed. Not that he believed that Severus would admit it. More than likely, his boy would snarl and grumble that the particular brew was for his personal benefit and he just so happened to bring the extra tea to him. Still, he was grateful. The tea not only calmed him, but allowed him to ponder in relative peace. There was also the added bonus that Severus himself was calm, no hints of the previous anger present. It begged the question of just how many cups he had consumed, but that was an avenue Albus was not about to pursue.

Yet, no matter how calming the effect of the tea, it did not change the fact that somehow he had failed. If the memories were to be believed – and truly, they were – something had gone wrong when he had removed Harry's memories. Except, Albus frowned, he was almost completely certain that he had correctly removed them. Harry was not the first, (but hopefully the last) person whose memories he had seriously altered. However, he certainly was the first to show active signs of recollection, which logically should not be possible. He had scanned Harry's mind thoroughly and had removed everything he had deemed harmful, and yet it was quite clear from Severus that the boy had not completely forgotten as he should have. Recalling the occasional snippet was not so uncommon, however, all signs pointed to Harry recalling with alarming vividness something that the headmaster was certain he had removed.

However, the most disturbing fact of all was Harry's reactions once he emerged from his trance-like state. Albus could not even hope to understand how Harry had felt when he realised that he had all but lost control of himself for several minutes. What he did know though, was that Severus had dealt with the situation remarkably well for someone so stoic and aloft.

Truthfully, he had not expected such actions from the man, but he would be a liar if he said that it did not please him. A wave of guilt filled the man at that thought. Even when he had sent Severus for the tea, he had been mildly annoyed with him and had been on the verge of scolding him for his anger. He should have known better, he acknowledged and could only be thankful that he had not.

He had spent the past few years in residence with the younger wizard and had known him for a prolonged period before that. If anyone was versed on his behaviours, it was him. Severus definitely would not have taken a scolding from him without releasing a torrent of rage on him. However, more than that, a rift would have formed between them, one that neither could afford to let happen. He had been on the verge of ignoring the signs that something was concerning his eldest in favour of scolding him for something that he had not yet determined.

He knew his eldest well. Severus did not react positively to disturbances in his daily routine, and Harry's panic certainly would not have been something Severus was equipped to handle. Undoubtedly, that had left him upset, and, not having a better way to direct his emotions, he had turned all that anger towards Albus and had made him a target. Even though he was displeased to be used as a target, he knew that he was the more logical choice. He could handle Severus' temper, knew instinctively which words were spewed solely out of anger and which ones were firmly entrenched in truth.

However, for now, Severus was not his primary concern. And so, he shot the wizard staring into his teacup a remorseful look. His immediate concern was Harry and the fact that he was not reacting as expected to his memory removal. Frankly, Albus was at a loss to what to do. He had never come across a situation like this. Usually, once the memories were removed, that was the end of the issue unless he chose to return them at a later date.

He supposed an explanation to Harry's behaviour was that somehow he had retrieved the lost memories. Immediately though, the theory was quashed. Had Albus kept the memories it would be feasible that somehow Harry had reabsorbed them, but this was not the case. There was no hope for restoration unless he chose to show him his journey through his mind from his point of view. And that certainly had not happened, nor was in his immediate plans of doing – if ever.

What did that leave for him to do?

Taking on the guardianship of Harry certainly was not turning into the easy task he had expected. Presented to him was a boy with issues seemingly equal to if not greater than those he had tried to conquer with Severus. At least his potions master had been aware that the treatment afforded to him had been dismal. His younger years (and although it pained him to admit it) as well as his Hogwarts years had been far from ideal, and he had had a part in that, however small or large. And now it seemed that history was repeating itself in one Harry Potter and fate was making it a lot more difficult than he had anticipated to help him correct the wrongs.

Even the past day or two, with Harry free from his memories, there had been an undercurrent of darkness that had surrounded the boy. It was like a shadow looming over him even as he bantered about the house, played with his puzzles or snuggled up beside him. The smiles on the boy's face had been a bit too joyful, his awe at a cooked meal that he did not make yet could eat, a little too overdone. Even with what Albus had removed, the tinge of neglect from the Dursleys had remained, leaving Harry a virtual stranger in a brand new world. A world free of yelling and abuse; a world where Harry was shown constant care and affection.

Although it pleased him immeasurably to watch the happiness that flowed from the child, it was bittersweet knowing that he was experiencing it literally for the first time. And there was also that pang that this was the life Severus might have had had he been willing to look past his own blindness towards the houses outside of Gryffindor and offered aid to a student who needed a loving hand more than any golden lion ever had. He had been admittedly too late to save Severus from a harsh life and even though he was now trying to make it up to him, it was not the same as a happy childhood.

Severus had always been aware of the headmaster's biases and that knowledge had never truly left him. Albus honestly did not know how again to go about apologising to Severus for the emotional and psychological pain he had caused him, but in Harry Potter he had found a chance for redemption. A little boy orphaned and put on a pedestal by a world that cared little for the boy himself. Whenever Harry had needed him, Albus had made himself available, willingly tossing aside important documents whenever his gargoyles showed a messy haired boy peering hesitantly at the doorway.

But now, it had become clear – with startling clarity – that the rather loose relationship they had shared at Hogwarts could not work here. There was a large difference between seeing the boy a few hours every week and actually interacting with him daily. He was more than a headmaster to the boy now; he was his family. There was no one else to turn the child over to when the situation got difficult. It was his problem to deal with.

And currently, Albus had no clue as to what to do. He had thought that his best option was to remove Harry's memories. That would have been key to his happiness. Certainly it had worked with Severus for that year or so after he had cleared his mind of all those pressing memories. He had expected a similar success with Harry, but now it was clear that that was not the solution to his problem anymore – not that he even knew what exactly was wrong with his ward anymore.

With a sigh, Albus dropped the teacup onto the table, a pained sigh passing his lips. "I don't know what to do," he admitted softly.

He sat there, waiting for Severus' biting tone, his furious condemnations of his actions, and his current defeated attitude. He deserved it, Albus noted, for putting Harry into that situation earlier when the boy had been panicked - panicked for doing an action he could put no real cause to. He deserved it for putting Severus on the spot like that, forcing the aloft man to comfort a boy whom he could not possibly be that comfortable with even though he had yet to protest. He deserved it all, and so he waited for the condemnation.

But that condemnation had never come. For when Albus, finally realising how much time had passed since his heartfelt sigh, looked up and stared blankly across his table, somewhere along the line, while he had been wrapped in his thoughts, Severus had left. Perhaps it was for the best, he acknowledged ruefully, before taking back up the teacup that he was positive had been empty when he had set it down, but was now full.

"Thanks my boy," he whispered to the empty room before he sipped at his drink. Once the cup was empty, he set it aside, and went back to thinking about what he should do.

*

Madame Phillips slowly removed the spectacles from her eyes and rubbed tiredly at them. It had been a long afternoon for her here at the Dumbledore residence. There was so much to understand, so many memories to see and decipher and explanations to be rendered. And once she had gotten through those, there was the actual patient to deal with, a painfully shy little boy who had immediately made his distrust for her known as he clutched tightly at the robes of one of the most renowned wizards of their time.

Convincing Harry to let her into his mind had taken over half an hour, and that was after he had actually sat down with her, talking with a stammer so profuse that at times she had been pushed to understand what he was saying. The boy had been terrified of her, terrified of what she was asking and had, more than once, shot pleading eyes towards the aged man in the room who smiled softly at him and asked him to be as helpful as possible.

Such cases were rare in the wizarding world, but once every few years, a healer came across it. The profile was usually the same. A wizarding child, most likely muggleborn or a half blood in the care of muggles who suffered under the hands of their family or guardians. It was not that the healer was condemning muggles, far from it actually, but statistically wise, it was proven that by far muggles caring for those categories of children, saw magic as an abnormality to be exterminated. It was often ignorance, and sometimes through malice, which led to the child being abused.

Some cases were redeemable. Madame Phillips' last case, completed three years ago, had had a surprisingly happy conclusion. It had been a muggle mother on the edge of a tether with a child who was proving to be especially powerful — if the amount of accidental magic was to be believed. Thoroughly frustrated, the woman had taken to verbally and emotionally abusing the child – a five year old. A wandering wizard, who happened to recognise the child's magical ability, had contacted her, and she had gone. It had taken a year but finally she had been able to help both mother and child.

The mother could not be held fully accountable. The child's father (who had abandoned them) had gone a long way in convincing the woman that magic was evil. How could the woman not have been afraid of her child when she had suffered under the hands of a wizard whose powers was now running through the child's veins. She had hoped to scare the magic out of the child but of course had only achieved the opposite goal. But their situation was much improved now, Phillips pondered, satisfied. The child's magic was being controlled by dampers that would slowly fade with age, and the mother had been equipped with the right tools to deal with a magical offspring.

Success stories like those warmed the healer's heart, and so, when she had first been contacted by the headmaster a few days ago with a case surrounding Harry Potter, she had expected a similar outcome. The boy was already out of the abusive situation – better yet (well figuratively at least) the abusers were permanently out of his life, which in essence should have helped with his healing. Plus, he had already found himself in a new home with persons he obviously trusted. In all honesty, she had expected to come there for a simple little chat with the boy, thinking that the headmaster just wanted professional assurance that the boy was well on the road to recovery.

What she had not expected to find was a child whose memories had been tampered with and worst yet – seemed to have other, perhaps even worst memories that a skilled person like the headmaster could not seem to find. She had been torn at first when she had heard his complete story. On the one hand, she felt alarm that the headmaster had chosen such a drastic measure to deal with he boy, and shocked even that he had done such an action before. It certainly was not illegal (not that she would have been the one to even consider breathing a word to the Albus Dumbledore about any questionable actions – she did like working after all) but still the action was extreme.

She herself had done the procedure numerous times over the years, whether it be on a trauma patient who just could not handle the experiences or the unfortunate muggle who had suffered at the hands of a wizard who saw them as nothing more than scum. However, after going through practically weeks of compressed memories, it was painfully clear to her that after the very first significant problem, the headmaster had chosen the easiest way out and had settled on clearing some of the painful memories. Judging from what she had seen, she herself might have recommended the action, but not off the bat.

There had been no consultation with the little boy, not even a word of warning to him. Not even had the headmaster gone about getting the boy to at least admit to the abuse he had suffered. That alone would have helped the situation considerably. Instead, the man had put the child to sleep and cleared away some of his memories and when it became apparent that something had gone wrong that he had no clue how to handle, she had been called in. However, she thought, nothing truly had gone wrong, well at least nothing in the memory removal.

The headmaster's memory removals had been thorough. He had carefully edited what he removed, only taking enough so that Harry would not suffer from huge memory gaps. Theoretically, the boy shouldn't have reacted as she had seen through the potion master's memories. And yet he had. Finding the answer to what had caused his behaviour was a painfully long task, and that itself had resulted in her tiredness now. However, intermingled with that tiredness was a sense of awe.

For an eleven year old to have accomplished that (not withstanding who he was)...without the great Albus Dumbledore knowing. She was impressed.

But now she had questions to answer, she thought ruefully as she strode from the room, leaving the pre-teen who was in a potion induced trance. At least she had both good news and bad for the men who were awaiting her.

Dumbledore was ever the chivalrous gentleman, offering her tea that she gratefully accepted. Walking through a person's mind was a draining experience after all. Once she was composed, she spoke of her findings.

"Well, Headmaster Dumbledore, Master Snape," she began, carefully putting down her teacup. "My findings have proven to be quite...unique."

"In what way, Madame?" the headmaster asked carefully, a hint of concern in his eyes.

"You will be relieved to know, sir, that your actions, no matter how unorthodox," she said mildly, "is not the cause of Harry's mental turmoil. You successfully removed the memories you sought after, however, the ones that you did not know about remain."

"Other memories?" the wizard asked in confusion. "Those memories were the worst ones I could find."

"But they were not the only ones," she pointed out.

Given who the men were, it did not surprise the healer in the least that it took scant seconds for at least one of them to realise her insinuation.

"Potter hid the memories," the potions master asked in a half speculative, half disbelieving tone.

"Quite right, Master Snape," she nodded before elaborating. "Whether it is natural or an ability manifested through necessity, I've come to the conclusion that Mr. Potter is an Occlumens. I did not attempt to breach his barriers but from what I could observe, Mr. Potter has, over the years, unconsciously or otherwise, been carrying out the very actions you attempted Professor.

"I cannot even go about contemplating how one so young managed it, but the fact remains that Mr. Potter has mental shields many persons strive their lifetime to achieve. Without talking to him personally, I can only offer a hypothesis on what occurred. I believe that his control of his memories are not infallible and thus when confronted by a situation similar to what he had hidden away, the memory 'escaped', if you will, from behind his mental barrier and he went about the associated routine. When Mr. Snape broke away from the familiar, this ended the memory's force and Harry regained full control.

"His panic attack arose from his confusion. From my best estimation, he has blocked those memories completely from his own psyche. At best, he has the knowledge that he has locked away memories but not exactly what they entail. The shock of his actions thus drove him into a state of distress, which brings us to our current situation.

"Master Snape, you were quite right in your earlier summation that such an occurrence can happen again. The only concrete way of preventing it, I suppose logically, is to train him to master completely the art of occlumency; however, given his age, I am not sure whether to recommend this however, as his guardian, the decision lies with you.

"Alternatively, I suggest that Mr. Potter be encouraged to speak of his past experiences. This is purely a muggle method I advise you, if you wish, we can consider magical means or at least a combination of both. However, I must say that I strongly advice that something must be done. I cannot force any decision unto you, nor can I really make you do anything. I can only hope that you choose the best decision for Mr. Potter."

*

After the healer left, the two men had talked for almost an hour on the best step forward. Both agreed with her summation that Harry needed help. However, the best route to do so was debatable. Severus much preferred occlumency. If Potter already had such good shields on his mind, it would be prudent to hone those skills. Albus argued though that to teach the boy the art would mean accessing the very memories he had stored away. It was evident to both though, that the man was reluctant to a return of that painfully shy and timid boy who had first arrived. Prudently, the headmaster steered the conversation into a different direction when Severus started muttering about his own experiences, but the potions master allowed it easily enough.

In the end, the men settled upon a route that they believed would work best and thus had gone to Harry. The healer would assume an advisory role, and both men would keep in frequent contact with her. However, it was prudent not to have Harry and her interact more than necessary. As the boy was currently proving, he did not trust the woman for some reason.

"Is she gone," Harry asked softly, looking from the Dumbledore to Snape and back again. "I don't like her."

"And why is that my boy?" Albus asked, as he came forward.

They had left Harry to sleep off the potion he had taken to allow the healer peacefully into his mind. He had long since awakened though, and, instead of seeking them out, had instead amused himself in his playroom. The very fact that he had actually utilised it, instead of simply grabbing a toy and leaving proved, at least to Severus, how much Harry disliked her. He did not scoff at the boy's behaviour. Children were rather excellent judges of character and he would trust his instinct in relation to the woman. It might not be anything of relevance, for all he knew the healer might have resembled his deceased aunt, scaring the child, but for now, he would not force Potter anywhere near the healer if he did not desire.

"I don't know," he shrugged, putting aside his book. "Am I in trouble?"

"No you aren't," Albus said swiftly, reaching down to ruffle his hair, "but we do want to speak to you."

Severus leaned negligently against a corner wall, content to be an observer for now.

"Not more potions?" the boy asked sceptically, before blushing when his gaze landed on Severus.

Taking advantage of it, the potions master mock glared at him, resisting a chuckle when Potter's eyes widened and he turned away. Children – well Potter anyway – could be amusing. The boy truly seemed to think that he would be angry that he disliked taking potions. How could he, when he himself disliked them on occasion? Besides, some of the ones Harry had to take were rather revolting. Not that he would admit it to him.

"No more," the headmaster reassured him, as he took a seat.

He gestured the boy forward, and when he was close enough, pulled him carefully so that he was seated on his left knee. What he had to tell the boy was potentially nerve-wracking and he wanted him to feel comfortable.

"Do you remember why we called for a healer my boy?"

"B-because of what I did in Professor Snape's office," Harry said softly, not meeting his gaze, and instead, fingered his robe. "You had to know why I did it and since I didn't know you called her."

"Basically," Albus agreed, a small smile of praise on his lips. "Well, she figured out what I couldn't so now we know how to help you."

"I won't act funny anymore?"

"You didn't act funny Harry," Albus corrected carefully, "but yes, we hope that it will stop."

"And I won't have to talk to the healer?" Harry pressed on.

It was a sign of trust in them, Severus noted, that the child did not even think to ask about what was wrong with him or what the treatment would entail. But then again, it could be that he was young and naive – or just a Gryffindor. He smirked lightly at the last bit, his head tilting slightly as he watched the two wizards interact.

The scene was – homely, he allowed. He did not focus on what they were saying. It was irrelevant as he had already discussed this with Albus. Moreover, he had no intention of trying to explain to an eleven year old what occlumency was and why he had to learn it. But, more than that, he did not want to be the one to open the proverbial can of worms by explaining to Potter that his childhood was far worse than he currently envisioned it to be, and that, in order to help him, they would essentially be forcing him to relive parts of it.

No, he declared once again. It was not a conversation for him. And so, while Albus did his best to speak to Harry, and the eleven year old tried to grasp what was being said, Severus relaxed there, observing the domestic scene, while idly wondering what it would be like to be in Potter's place, so trusting at Albus' knee, for a little while.


	17. Chapter 17

_"But why?" Harry all but whispered as he peered into his guardian's eyes. "I don't want to remember."_

_There was a poignant plea to the boy's words, one that lanced both adults in the room to their very cores — to the extent that one's eyes darkened considerably with pain, while the other silently left the room, the door clicking close behind him._

_It was heart wrenching to consider._

_A wizard so young should have eyes as innocent as a lamb's and yet, this one bore such a shadowed expression that his guardian could not help but tighten the arm he had around his slim waist. However, more than that, was the fact that the child, hardly remembering what was secreted away in his mind, nonetheless, felt an instinctive fear of it - fear that led the normally pliant child to shoot mournful looks at his minder._

_"I don't want to," the child repeated softly, his voice cracking slightly as he moved instinctively, resting his forehead against the man's robed chest. "Headmaster..."_

_The child held on to the man, hoping that he would agree and let the matter drop. Yes, he had been disturbed earlier by his 'funny' behaviour, but that did not mean he wanted any part of this okemulsy business. See, it even sounded weird, and weird things, he had no doubt, were extremely uncomfortable. He did not want his mind probed. The headmaster had said that the memories were deeply hidden, just how far would they have to dig to get at it, and what if the needle was truly wicked, like the one the doctor had stuck him with when he was younger?_

_He did not want it at all._

_However, as he had long since learnt, a child does not always get what he wants – or in this case – does not want. ___

It had been three weeks since that time, Harry thought dejectedly, as he dropped his quill unto his desktop, staring dully at the ink spatters it made on his carefully crafted essay. He would have to rewrite it, he sighed, unless he asked the headmaster to remove the stains for him. The potions master would refuse him outright, citing that such a thing was high-class laziness, and he could consider the rewrite an unofficial penmanship lesson. Not that his handwriting was anywhere near as atrocious as it had been since he had first held a quill, but still, everything was an opportunity to learn for the man. 

Oh well, he decided as the ink set into the parchment, he would consider this a draft and finish it anyway. However, not right now, because the very thought that had led him to drop the quill in the first place still plagued his mind. 

Today was Wednesday, which meant yet another occlumency lesson that he absolutely abhorred. 

There was something inherently wrong, he had long since decided, about having someone forcibly shatter a barrier he had no knowledge of creating. Letting the headmaster into his mind was easy, he hardly felt him. In fact, Harry only rebelled when the man neared that dark part of his mind that he unconsciously protected. That, in essence, he had been told, was what the art of occlumency entailed; however, Harry was not impressed in the least. For his seemingly natural skills did little more than hamper the process, bringing him unwanted discomfort as his guardian was forced to overpower them in order to breach his cupboard. 

But more than that, Harry acknowledged, as he automatically straightened his things, was exactly what occurred once his mental cupboard had been breached. The headmaster actually removed memories from the cupboard, wresting two or three at a time from the shelves and pulling them forward out of the protection. It was at those moments that the real discomfort began. For not only did Harry have to relive the locked away memories, he was urged, with the steady presence of the elder wizard in his mind, to confront them, and identify what was wrong with what he saw. 

That had been a problem for him then, still was a problem if were to be completely honest. Harry truly had, in those first few lessons seen nothing wrong with how his relatives had treated him. Yes, before releasing them from the cupboard, the boy had wondered at the slight feelings of inadequacy and being beneath the worth of others, however, once he had perused the memories, truly immersed himself in them once again, he had fallen back easily into that role drilled into him throughout his younger life. 

It was at those moments that he truly felt an inkling of fear towards his guardian. For always, the headmaster reacted the same way, forcibly, even in his mind, chastising him for those thoughts, making him see the memories from his point of view. The headmaster painted him in the light of an abused child, one who should not have experienced any of those 'dreadful acts' as he put it. But Harry, trapped once more as he was in the notions he had been raised in, had been hard of hearing. 

Indeed, in the midst of their initial session, Harry had managed what few could hope to do. He had forcibly ejected the headmaster from his mind, and, still gripped by the released memories, had fled, searching in the suddenly strange house for that one place that always offered him security – a cupboard. 

Unwittingly, the memory rose as Harry capped his inkwell, and sighing, the preteen allowed himself to relive it. 

_How could he have been so stupid?_

The headmaster would be furious with him, and the way he had run away. He had heard the man call after him clearly, and yet, instead of going to him and accepting the punishment for his actions, he had sped up his footsteps, running blindly as he searched for a place to hide – a place of safety. 

How he had lighted upon this place, he did not know, but somehow, almost miraculously even, he had come across this cupboard strangely reminiscent of his old one, and almost joyfully, had dove into it. Unconsciously his magic closed and locked the door behind him as he huddled into a tight corner, rocking slightly at what had been uncovered. 

It wasn't that he had run because of the headmaster per se, it was more out of confusion. So much seemed so – wrong currently. Those feelings that had emerged with the memory, somehow, he knew that he had held them throughout the Hogwarts year, and most definitely, when he had arrived here in his new home. Very faintly, he had the impression that something was missing from his first days here, something, he somehow knew, that he would not find in his mental storage place. 

It perplexed him. 

The feelings of worthlessness he felt now were normal to him; what was not normal was his lack of them in the days prior, and, more than that, the slightly pleading edge the headmaster's voice had taken when he had fallen into his more familiar mindset. It was as if the man had expected something like that to have happened, and was trying to circumvent it. And the more he had dwelt on it those few minutes in his mind, watching as his hands reddened with the heat of the water he was using to scrub wares with on the orders of his aunt, the more he felt that the man truly did have something to do with those occasional weird moments he felt. __

He had stayed there for almost an hour, Harry recalled, as he moved to his bedroom window, staring out into the gloomy sky. It had taken that long for the man to first find him, and then unlock the door. Apparently, he could be fairly powerful if it suited his needs. He almost wished currently that he knew exactly how he had extracted that amount of power from himself, for if he knew how, he definitely would lock his bedroom door. 

No matter how 'helpful' the lessons, Harry did not want them. So what if he occasionally had those 'funny' moments, as he tended to call them. Now that he was aware that they could possibly occur, surely he could better control it. He did not think that it was that necessary for him to see the memories either. He had been getting along, in his own opinion, quite fine without it. Why did he have to relive those experiences? He did not want to, and why, in this case, did that count for nothing? 

Prior to this, the headmaster had always carefully considered his opinions, and yet, in this, the man was as unyielding as a wall. He was determined that he have the lessons, although neither of them were anywhere near calm by the time the session was up. And still, despite the discomfort it caused them both, and the way he himself shied away once it was done, a week would pass, and then they would be right back to where they were before. 

Sighing, Harry returned to his essay just as the clouds burst and rain poured down. 

Really, he hated Wednesdays.

*

Wednesdays were quickly becoming his least favourite day of the week, Severus thought as he flipped a page of his journal, one hand warmed by the coffee cup he held. Wednesdays – the nights especially – meant occlumency lessons for the child and old man, lessons that only thus far had one conclusion - a grim looking headmaster trying to hide the looks of guilt in his eyes, and a pale shaking eleven year old, whose stammer would be at an all time high.

Wednesday nights meant a departure for the semi-routine the household had settled into. Instead of a shyly smiling boy peering around the doorway, aptly dressed in cotton pyjamas and bearing a freshly scrubbed face, there would be an old bothersome wizard, a tray floating behind him as he dropped heavily into a chair. By the second week, Severus had come to accept that there would be no visits from Potter on those nights, not that he could blame him.

Occlumency was cruel, especially the form the boy was expected to learn. Reliving those memories and then trying to disassociate his emotions from them so as to break the stronghold they held on him – it was not an easy task. Indeed, Severus himself would not lie and say that he had managed that particular aspect of the art. He too was often at the mercy of his memories' strength, which was why they were locked as far away as he could manage.

It really was too bad that Albus would not let both of his wards get away with doing that. In all honesty, he supposed, as he turned a page once again, the only reason Albus had not yet broached the topic with him was the fact that he had his hands full dealing with the memories of one ward to cater to two of them. But then again, Severus knew that he could never willingly allow the headmaster into his memories like that. It was an experience too intimate, allowing someone he did not entirely trust to witness some of his most vulnerable moments. Oh no, he was perfectly content with the state he was in currently.

Pausing over a particularly riveting entry, Severus spared a moment to check the time, a frown furrowing at his brow when he saw that it was a little after eight. Soon enough, Albus would withdraw from the boy's mind, and then the second part of the lesson would begin, when he tried to comfort a suddenly distraught boy unable to draw correlation between the experiences he relived and the path he was expected to live from now on. It was a heavy burden for one so young to bear, and the potions master could almost sympathise with the headmaster.

Succumbing to his curiosity that very first session, Severus had abandoned his work for the night after the nine o clock hour had passed, and went to see the results of the lesson. He had expected slight theatrics from Potter, after all, the experience was bound to be unnerving for him, however, what he had not expected to stumble upon was Albus sitting on a hard wood floor, coaxing the child out of a cupboard.

It certainly had been an experience, Severus remembered. Potter had been broadcasting his thoughts loudly, so much so that the potions master had only to prod slightly to read them. He had withdrawn after only a brief pause at the pure chaos that had met him. Whatever was supposed to be accomplished in the lesson had not been. Not only had Potter seen aspects of his past, he had reacclimatised himself into the mentality that had led Albus to modify his memory in the first place.

That had been most shocking, and with slight disbelief, Severus had leaned against the wall and watched Potter, as timid as he had ever seen him, tremble in the man's arms, his words barely discernable amidst the stammering. It had taken two more days to return the child to a behaviour somewhat near to how he had acted before the whole ordeal had started. And even for him, the one who forcibly tried (and was increasing failing) to keep from developing any possible attachments to the boy, it had been crushing to see the transition.

Having witnessed how 'good' Potter could act, it was hard to see him return to a timid state. The child had tried to cook, cried when he was forbidden to and cringed when Albus tried to comfort him. He refused to sit at the table, and when reminded he had done so before, flinched and, amidst shakes, declared that he should be punished for taking such liberties. His schoolwork he undertook willingly, but when sent to play, Severus, on inkling, had arrived in time to find the whelp attempting to transfigure a mop, even as his lips twisted in disgust at the obvious use of magic.

Those days had been dreadful, he acknowledged, and in all honesty, when the next Wednesday arrived, he had been as apprehensive as Albus. However, the session, depending on how you looked at it, went better. On the one hand, Potter had not reacted as extreme, although he was extra meek for a while. On the other, the boy sported a morose look the next day so poignant that Severus had found himself hard-pressed to scold the boy for the runniness of his potion.

It seemed, at least to him, that the boy had developed a dislike for the lessons, so much so that he had (actually!) whined about it the previous day to the man's relief and consternation. It was nice to see the boy capable of such an annoying teenage reaction, and because of that Severus had withheld a scold and instead ruffled his hair while muttering something along the lines of everyone having responsibilities they'd rather not have. At least he had refrained from the whole 'it's for your own good' bit Albus ran with. Years later, the man still was as unoriginal as ever.

But now it was nearing nine, the time that one Harry Potter should be heading to bed for a night of dreamless sleep — thanks to the potion he had already put on his bedside table. Yet another potion, Severus thought, but at least this one was only required sparingly. It was just under a month since the boy had arrived here, but already he had had to brew more potions for him than he could ever remember doing for one single person. And, surprisingly, he found it hard to resent that fact.

Although, originally making potions had been a way of relieving stress for him, in time he had learned a true appreciation for the art (notwithstanding the fact it offered him relief in those summer months when he was under his father's 'tender' care). However, somewhere along the line, the purpose of potion making to him had changed, as he realised that through his labours, he actually aided others. What he did was important and worthwhile. Without his efforts, there would be persons in the wizarding world suffering for a remedy to whatever plagued them.

However, it was not until Harry Potter arrived here that the potions master could truly see the effects of his labour first hand. In only a month, Potter's condition had drastically improved. His skin had lost that pasty look and now glowed softly, his hair, much softer and manageable. But most telling was the weight he had put on. The boy had gained, through a combination of carefully relegated meals and nutrient potions, three pounds. It was a good start, and thankfully, with it he had lost some of that unnatural thinness that had formerly graced him.

Without the bulk of his school uniform, the boy's unnatural slimness had been obvious. But now there was a slight roundness to the child's face, perhaps indiscernible to someone who did not pay such close attention to detail as he did, but Severus definitely saw it. The man found it oddly humorous. Whereas children were supposed to lose such facial definitions with time, Potter was doing the opposite and actually was in the process of gaining those rounded pink cheeks that rendered children irresistible to witches.

Unfortunately though, the boy's height remained constant to Severus' consternation, but, as he reminded himself, the child could not hope to grow before his body was returned to a healthy state. He had no little doubt that once the boy's weight was balanced, he would start growing. Idly, he wondered if the boy was too old to have his height carved into the wall...it was something he vaguely recalled his mother doing, and he had enjoyed it.

Until that time came, Potter would have to content himself with being the shortest in his year for yet another term (although for the sake of the boy's nonexistent pride he hoped that the incoming first years would be particularly tiny). However, Severus allowed, as he marked his place, Potter's height allowed him to be carried easily, as he and the old coot both found themselves doing at times when either the child was too emotional, or the brat deigned to sleep somewhere other than his bed. He had not signed up for being the boy's carrier, of course, but more and more he was finding himself re-evaluating the "Things I Will Not Do With Potter" list as time went by.

Damnable brat, worming his way into his consciousness (Merlin forbid him say heart!) in the same not so annoying way his mother had done.

*

Wednesdays most assuredly deserved to be struck from the week, Albus thought irritably as he closed his ward's bedroom door after tucking in the silent, slightly distrustful child curled up in a tight protective ball. And he himself should be raked over coals for the necessity of such nights in the first place. Leaving Harry as he had with the Dursleys.

If only he had access to a time-turner capable of turning back years instead of hours. He would definitely, if that was the case, go back, ensure that his younger self heeded Minerva, and not leave Harry with those thrice-damned muggles. At least then, he hoped, the child would not be plagued with the trouble existence he had now. Unfortunately, he did not have access to such a device, although it probably was for the best given that he would be tempted to change several more aspects of the past.

Most of the wizarding community thought him infallible, the learned wizard who had saved them from one dark lord and spearheaded the efforts against the other. And while Albus did not decry what he had done, he had then, still did, and probably always would have issues with the other things associated to himself. He was a lot like his ward in that regard, he thought sadly as he shirked himself free of the robes he had worn since before dawn.

The world had an image of him, an all powerful, omniscient figurehead, a person to turn to when all hope was lost. He was a symbol of strength and good judgement, and, until Harry had come, alone had held the unofficial mantle of chief protector of the wizarding world. And now, sadly, it seemed as if those things had been shoved onto the shoulders of a mere child – an abused one at that. But just as Harry was none of the expected things, so too was Albus. He wasn't a hero – well, not in the light the world cast him as.

Defeat Grindewald he had, but that had been one of the hardest moments of his life, despite the fact that the man had destroyed his family twice over. Yet, despite that, as he had faced the dark lord on the battlefield, besides the hurt and pain he felt for not only his loss but that of the society by large, was a profound sadness for the man he had once considered his best friend. Grindewald had been his companion, the person with whom he had shared all his hopes and dreams.

When Albus had finally faced his friend, it was truly not out of a desire to free the world of his dastardly actions. Indeed, to an extent it was not even for the destruction of his family. In the end, Albus had faced his friend in order to find the truth. He had not meant to duel him, he had simply gotten wind of his location and went to confront the friend he no longer knew and ask why. Why had he taken this perverted path to the power they had dreamt about in their younger days? Why had he betrayed all who cared for him, including Albus himself?

However his friend, long overcome by the dark magic he had dabbled in for too long, was long gone, and in a moment the now headmaster had found himself fighting for his life, even while he wondered if he had had anything left to fight for. In the end, it had been Fawkes, drawn to him by a link he still did not understand, who had ultimately granted him success. Grindewald had faltered at the phoenix's appearance, perched as it was on the shoulder of his former friend. Albus though had pressed forward, belatedly realising his friend's distraction and dealt him an almost fatal blow. And afterwards he had cried, falling to his knees even as the aurors bustled away his bleeding friend while Fawkes trilled softly to him.

No one had asked about the nature of his grief, indeed, they had painted it as a hero overcome by his success in ridding the world of great evil. He had never corrected them, but perhaps, Albus pondered, if he had, from the very start combated the image they painted of him, he would not be in his current position — forced to act in a plethora of roles, when truly, he was content to be two things, Headmaster of Hogwarts and father of one – well two now – wards. Wards who both suffered for what, at some point in the past, he had done.

There was Severus, thirty-one and forced into a guardianship with him because of the court. He owed so much to the man, having failed him so many times in his teenage years and had, for the past ten or so years, tried to compensate for that. His success was admittedly debatable, but at least now the potions master no longer shot hexes at him every other day. Well, he had another decade to finish the job, he allowed, before Severus was no longer forced to remain with him.

Albus pointedly ignored the pang of pain at that fact. It had long been a nightmare of his that Severus would disappear from his life the minute his sentence was served. He was fond of the man, aggressive, sarcastic person as he was, and would hate to see him leave. But there was time still for that, he decided. On the other hand, there was Harry, who came to him by choice (or was it really given that he truly had offered the boy no other alternative?). And, as with Severus, a miscalculated action on his part had led to a life of strife for the boy. He owed so much to both, and it was his mission to do as best for him as he could, no matter how much effort it took.

But nights like these made him question the validity of his actions and he wondered if he was doing more harm than good. There was Severus, forced to see a life he had been denied as a child, and then there was Harry, currently forced to recall things he most definitely wanted nothing to do with. Yet, there were no other alternatives as far as the headmaster could see, and thus he could only plough forward and hope that the current situation would improve with time.

Sometimes faith was the only thing a wizard possessed.

Albus' eyes lacked their customary twinkle as he left the room, idly noting that it was nearing ten o'clock. He hoped that Severus was still awake. After almost an hour of painful ruminations, he needed a peaceful conversation before bed, lest he be awakened from the terrors of what he had done in past years.

Severus in his own way truly cared for him, the wizard decided minutes later as he sat in a chair. Why else would the man have such an elaborate spread waiting for him? But more than that, he did not comment on either his expression or lack of robes, but instead did nothing more than hand him a steaming cup of tea before settling back to await his leisure. Less was more with Severus Snape, he thought contentedly, as he shot a small smile at the wizard who rolled his eyes and looked away, but at least it was a start.

He would accept that for now, for truly, what other choice did he have?


	18. Chapter 18

Something needed to be done.

That grim thought flitted through Severus' mind as he glanced discretely over his newspaper to where Albus and the boy sat. There was an undercurrent of tension between the two that had been absent in the weeks before. And the potions master knew exactly what it was that was slowly driving a wrench between the two.

Occlumency.

Those lessons were responsible for the growing barrier between the two. And surprisingly, neither of them seemed to realise it yet. Perhaps he noticed because he was more of an observer to the event than an actual participant. Or maybe, more accurately, it was because the wizard was very much aware of the negativity that could attach itself to the art. Letting someone into your mind willingly was not an easy task. Severus himself, after years of knowing the old coot, rarely allowed him into his shield, preferring to put whatever experience was required into a pensieve.

However, Potter did not have that option and so had to surrender himself weekly to a probing of his mind where the worst of his experiences (Severus could only guess here because he adamantly refused to witness what the boy had gone through) were brought to light and he was forced to deal with them. In all honesty, the boy could not be blamed for his growing detachment from the elder. The potions master was certain that it was an unconscious move on his part. He believed that Potter did not even realise what he was doing, just like the child seemed never to notice when he hummed absently or nibbled on the corner of his lip when deep in thought. Yet he was drawing away from his guardian, and it was not something he could allow to go on any longer.

For even now, as the pair shared the couch, Albus' arm casually slung over the thin shoulders while Potter read his illustrated novel (he would be damned before he uttered the term 'story book') the boy inadvertently stiffened whenever the headmaster caressed him. The small gestures the man made were something the boy had gotten accustomed to over his stay thus far. That light brush as Albus reached up to run a hand through his hair, or even the light rub he gave the boy's upper arm whenever he felt him react to whatever he was reading. These were all things Potter had been privy to before, and yet now, instead of gradually leaning into the old man as he always did so that his head would rest lightly on the man's robes, undoubtedly enjoying his own human pillow, Potter remained as stiff as ever.

He knew instinctively what that meant. There was a barely discernable stiffness to Potter's shoulders, and the hand that slowly turned the pages of his book did not carry that grace the boy managed. Potter obviously was not completely at ease with the headmaster, and yet, he still craved the affection he knew the man afforded him and so he remained by his side.

Well, Severus corrected, he was currently at his side and only then because Albus had jovially suggested it and had all but plopped the boy at his side. For in the past few days, it was him and not Albus that the boy sought out. Not that he particularly minded what the boy did as long as he did not disturb him while he worked, but still, he could not help the slight resentment he felt at the fact that the boy seemingly sought him out because he was at odds with Albus.

Once the man was present in the house and Harry did not have a stipulated activity, the boy usually followed the old man around like an enamoured puppy anxious to play and please their new owner. As the old nursery rhyme went, wherever Albus went, the boy was sure to go. It had been both amusing and annoying at the time, Severus had allowed. Although it had pleased him that Potter had finally accepted that it was okay to express his wants (even if that want was primarily being in the old coot's company) it left a bitter taste in the man's mouth at the adoration he sometimes gleaned from the boy's eyes.

Albus was a veritable saviour to the boy, and the potions master found that he did not like that impression in the least. His keeper was far from perfect, and although Potter was but a child and did not deserve his childish image ruined, that look in his eye proved most uncomfortable for the man. It reminded him of a time when he was that age, and had been in awe of the head of the school that had saved him from his home life. Back then, the knobbly kneed, snot nosed Severus Snape had felt nothing but adulation for the man whose name was scribed (magically generated he later learnt) at the bottom of a letter that had been his chance at a new beginning. But, it had only taken months for that illusion to shatter, and that had added to the bitterness that had dwelt in his heart.

He did not want that for Potter, for surely, as he knew the man would do, someday Albus would do something, or perhaps even admit a fact that would shatter the saintly image Potter held of him. The headmaster tended to have that effect on people, unknowingly or otherwise, but at the end of the day Albus Too-Many-Names Dumbledore was just a human, no more special than anyone else when it came down to that most fundamental level. And if one did not show reverence for a vagabond, why should such adoration be directed at him?

But Severus had never espoused those thoughts, no matter how much they bothered him, and had simply stood by and watched Potter carry on with his fawning, while ensuring that not one ounce of that was directed towards him. The only awe he wanted from the boy was that look on his face as he observed him sauntering gracefully between numerous cauldrons, creating an orchestra of bubbling, splashing and hissing as he worked. A Picasso in his own right. He wanted nothing from the boy that he had not earned, but neither did he go out of his way to foster such feelings in the boy. Potter respected him, that much he knew, and that was enough for him. The day he saw Potter shooting him a glance even remotely similar to what he shot Albus was the day that Severus deemed himself a failure, for he certainly was not an individual to be looked up to, no matter what Albus or his Slytherins believed.

However, he thought, drawing himself out of his ruminations, none of that helped in the current situation. No matter how much he did not want a return of Potter's almost hero worship of the older man, he had to admit that the situation had to change. Alas, he would have to assume the role of meddler between the two. He would admit, Potter fawning and Albus spoiling put aside, the two were good for each other. More than that though, reforming that closeness between the two would distract the old coot from him once again.

It wasn't that he hadn't become...tolerable to his tea sessions with the man, it just was that he did not have a sweet tooth. And when Albus, without the justification to sneak into Potter's room just to watch him sleep peacefully for a few moments, ordered that third snack tray, he found himself unable to refuse. He and sweets were not a good combination, and after Albus had gorged himself and his subconscious worries and went off to do whatever it was the featherbrain did before he slept, he was the one left nursing the unfortunate effects of over consummation of sugar.

*

Severus was up to something.

Albus knew that much as he watched the man shoot yet another furtive glance at him over his periodical. What exactly was going on with his eldest…and his youngest for that matter? Harry had begged off joining them this afternoon, instead quietly indicating that he was tired and wanted to rest. Perplexed (for the boy had slept earlier in the day), he had sent him off with a small pat to the head, noting that the boy's shy smile was absent, but dismissed it as tiredness.

Perhaps Harry felt overworked? The wizard's brows furrowed as he thought about it. He would mention it to the child later on. There really was no need for such an intense study schedule as Severus had assigned the boy. Harry had long since proved his book smarts, and now that he no longer had a limiting factor on his magic, the child was sure to excel come the start of the school year. He was already doing so, the headmaster added proudly, as he recalled the transfigurations essay of his that Severus had handed over to him for marking.

Clear, concise, and logical. Harry certainly had his mother's brains, that much was certain. Really, at times he wondered if Harry had anything more of James Potter in him than his outwardly appearance. Currently, he did not think so, but then again, how different would his little one have been if he had not sent him to that home? Perhaps there was a mini-James lurking somewhere within the boy; a part of him that revelled in little bits of naughtiness even as he put forth an expression so angelic that one could not hope to scold him too badly for it. Well there was enough time left, Albus thought, and perhaps with time, some more of James Potter would emerge in his only child. He only hoped that Severus would not react too badly if that was the case.

At times, he struggled to understand the dynamics between his two boys. Frankly, he did not know how the pair related to each other so calmly. Harry, as always, was respectful and quiet, not at all intrusive. Yet, he saw the contentedness in the boy on mornings while he played with Severus overlooking him. At times, he thought to comment at the way the potions master abruptly shot out probing questions at the boy.

Surely it was not right to turn Harry's play time into a glorified work session. However, he always held his peace for his little one showed no signs of fear or hesitation at the questioning. Indeed, once he was certain he caught the barest hint of a smile on the boy's face before he answered. Perhaps it was just a game between the two, the same way he and Severus bickered endlessly about nothing on occasion.

He couldn't be certain.

What he did know though, was that it pleased him immensely to peek in at them and watch the interaction. The calmness between them was something bittersweet for him. In Harry, Severus had found a connection to his old friend – and dare he say it? – crush Lily Evans (he really was not entirely certain he had seen her as anything else, even all these years later). However, more than that, it struck Albus at the man finally being able to look past Harry's outward appearance.

He could still remember his boy's original grouse with Harry. He was – eyes excluding – the embodiment of his childhood nemesis. In a way, although how childish the reasoning, he could sympathise with Severus. It could not be easy to watch a miniature version of an enemy walking about. It was bound to evoke uncomfortable feelings. Indeed, he could liken it to how he would feel at seeing the offspring of Grindewald walking through Hogwarts' halls, especially if said offspring befriended a blue eyed boy for a companion. But he had put his faith in Severus, and luckily (and surprisingly) Severus had not failed him.

Oh, he was well aware of those point deductions from Harry in that initial term, but, subsequent to that, Severus had gone out of his way to treat the boy as he would any other student – no matter how crass and rough he could be. But it was truly his actions towards the boy here that earned his potions master the most praise from him. Severus had literally taken Harry under his wing. He truly could not identify which role he had adopted – was he an older brother to the lad, or a more uncle-like figure? Either way, he was very much grateful.

As much as he loved the idea of having Harry running about the place, it was far from an easy task – and compounded with his work schedule, Severus was a gift from Merlin himself. And it was not that he had asked it of the man. It was Severus who had created a work schedule for Harry, and it was he who oversaw his lessons on those days when the wizarding world's affairs simply could not go on without his input. There had been slight guilt originally, for truly Harry was his, but he comforted himself in the knowledge that he carefully regulated his time to ensure that he spent at least four hours around the lad daily, even though now he was starting to feel it was inadequate.

His poor child was obviously craving for the detailed attention he had given him on his first days here. He had rarely left the child then, but now he was always popping in and out of the Cottage. And there were those occlumency lessons on top of that. He seriously doubted that he really gave the child the aftercare he deserved after a session, but truly, he did the best he could, and there was always Severus to take up the slack. Perhaps that was why the child was tired? Had he not slept properly after last night's session despite the vial of sleeping potion? Or did he have bad dreams on other nights when Albus had not been so careful with him?

He really was not sure but lately he had noticed a slight difference in Harry's demeanour. Though he never really bounded about the place as children of his age was want to do, there was still a little bit of lacklustre in his step, as if something was preoccupying his little boy. And yet when he asked, Harry insisted he was fine. What was the matter? Perhaps a change of scenery would help? They really had not been out of the Cottage much thus far, and although he did plan on relocating them to a beach property for the last two or so weeks of the holidays, maybe it was time for a little trip. To Diagon perhaps? Children of all ages seemed to enjoy exploring the bustling alley, and maybe a spot of ice-cream and chocolate would fix him right up.

He would have to consider that for the next day. He really did not have that much paperwork due – well, at least not any he couldn't set aside for a few hours to take his lad on an outing. Perhaps he could even convince Severus to come along and make it a round trip with the family? He would have to wheedle extra hard for that, but he was certain that he could get Harry to flash those emerald eyes at the man too, and hopefully that would sway him to come with them.

But despite all this, the fact remained that Severus was still observing him over his newspaper, and were that look on anyone else's face, Albus might have been tempted to call it mischievous. And anything remotely mischievous on one Severus Snape's face certainly could not be directed at the receiver of those intentions, be they whatever they were.

Right?

*

The night sky was so beautiful.

Harry could not help but admire the serenity of the night sky as he knelt on his window seat, his head stuck out of the window. A cool breeze danced across his face, drawing a small smile from him as he took in the twinkling stars, tiny points of light against the sheet of darkness. He never really had the opportunity to enjoy the sky at Hogwarts (well, except for those nights he wandered about), and even before that he supposed.

There was something different about looking out into the sky without fear of a sudden rebuke. He was free to sit here as long as he liked and embrace nature, and he loved that fact. Nature was a solace for him, always had been since his younger years, even as he laboured in the garden under the burning sun. And now, it was his safety once again. Looking into the night sky, Harry could forget all of the things that bothered him. The soft glow of the moon made everything seem irrelevant – especially those dreadful Occlumency lessons.

Harry chastised himself for even thinking about the magic, for it disassociated him somewhat from the serenity the moon and sky offered him. And, try as he may, he found that he could not recapture his earlier feelings of peace. Sighing, he pulled his head back into the bedroom, and flopped down onto his nearby beanbag, wrapping his arms around himself. It was now just half past eight, another thirty or so minutes before his guardian came to put him to bed, something he usually looked forward too, but not particularly on this night...nor any of the past previous if he was honest with himself.

He didn't know what was wrong with him. The headmaster had given him this new, perfect life. He owed so much to the man, and yet, he could not do this one thing for him. It hurt him at how selfish he was being, but still, he did not like Occlumency. He didn't want to remember what the headmaster was making him; he didn't like listening to why each of those memories were wrong and that he should not believe what he had been raised to believe. He didn't. He just wanted to leave the past alone.

But the headmaster was not allowing him too, kept telling him that the lessons were necessary. He himself was not completely certain. Why should he have to relive his past? He understood that his relatives had treated him wrong...or did he? Or was it that he just believed that they treated him badly because that is what the headmaster had been telling him repeatedly?

He didn't know anymore, and that is what disturbed him. The headmaster was in his mind, who knew what he was doing inside of there! Yes, he was helping him, but really, how was forcing him to remember helping? But more than that, Harry could not shake the feeling everything his guardian slipped into his mind, that he had experienced such a sensation before the Occlumency lessons had commenced, and that, more than everything else, disturbed him.

Experiencing those sensations now inevitably drew his mind back to some vague recollection. In it the headmaster was looming over him, his wand pressed against his temple, while his eyes twinkled in that odd way they always did when he was about to enter his mind. But that had never happened. . . . Had it? Harry honestly was not sure anymore. None of it made sense in all honesty when he thought about it.

That 'episode' of his . . . what exactly had triggered it? He knew now why he had done those actions, having seen himself bent over the back of the couch and being whipped for breaking something. But why was it that at that moment in the professor's office, he had not remembered such a scene, and instead acted mechanically. Yes, that particular memory had been in his cupboard, but certainly there had been experiences of varying degrees floating around his mind. If he understood enough of the mind art, then there should be.

And yet there wasn't, and, in his moments of boredom when he tried to venture into his mind, he found little blank spots, points in his recollections when everything seemed blurred or indiscernible. There was certain sequences of events that did not connect logically, and, this past afternoon, Harry had been forced to conclude that they were missing, and somehow not in his cupboard. They were gone completely from his mind, and it was not of his doing.

And the only person he could think of who may have had something to do with it was the very man who had him dreading Wednesdays. So what was he supposed to do about it? Did he have the right to tell the man something, or even broach the subject with him? According to the headmaster, he did have the right. Children had opinions he had been told repeatedly, so surely the man would not be too annoyed with him if he spoke up?

But still, how did he even begin to talk to the man, and tell him his suspicions? That he believed that the headmaster himself had something to do with the blank spots in his mind.

"Because I do," a grave voice said from the doorway.

Harry flinched as he twisted, not having heard the door open. Headmaster Dumbledore stood just within the room, his face unreadable.

"S-sir?" Harry asked, unsure if the man had answered his unspoken question.

"I do," he repeated as he stepped closer. "I do have something to do with the gaps in your memory, and I can only hope you can forgive me for doing what I thought best."


	19. Chapter 19

"You don't usually hang around after dinner," Albus said conversationally, eyeing the wizard leaning lightly against the kitchen counter.

The potions master quirked a brow at him over the rim of his coffee cup. "Should I leave?" he half drawled.

"Of course not. It's just - curious, that's all."

Silence reigned for several minutes as the headmaster moved around the kitchen, straightening items and preparing a list of what was missing from the inventory. It was nice to actually have people to order for, he thought contentedly, thinking back to past summers where he and Severus took their meals directly from the Hogwarts' elves. It was because of Harry that he now actually made an effort to provide the boy, as much as possible, with home cooked meals.

Finished now, he turned, mildly surprised to find Severus still there, looking at him. Well, this certainly was new. His eldest had a habit of popping in and out of rooms randomly, and, in the quietness of the past few minutes, he had assumed the man would disappear to his office for the remainder of the night. However, here he was, regarding him with those searching eyes even as he sipped at his cup once again.

He wanted to say something, the headmaster abruptly realised, and probably was waiting for him to recognise that fact. At least he had, Albus thought ruefully, turning to mimic his position, folding his arms loosely. He smothered a light smirk at the brief look of surprise that crossed Severus' face before he schooled his expression into neutrality.

"What is it?" he asked simply, his tone inviting further conversation.

The potions master stiffened slightly, his grip on the cup tightening minutely. Albus said nothing, waiting patiently for Severus to accept his invitation to talk. Apparently, he had caught the potions master unawares by his abrupt invitation. Indeed, he thought, he usually left the man to stew for a little bit once he recognised the signs in the hopes that he would open up to him on his own. It rarely was the case though, and thus, tonight, he had decided to take the initiative, something disconcerting for his eldest boy.

"Well Severus?" he encouraged, deciding to help him by crossing the room so that they were only feet apart. "Tell an old man what is on your mind, hmm?"

The potions master scowled slightly at the teasing note in his voice. For all he enjoyed giving him a plethora of nicknames (three quarters of them unflattering at that), Severus never liked it whenever he was teased about the fact. Albus waggled his brows, a clear warning that he would continue along the same vein until Severus gave in and spoke.

"It's about Potter," he said abruptly, just when Albus was prepared to launch into another irksome speech. "And, well you."

The words were so unexpected that Albus found himself briefly shocked. Taking the opportunity, Severus slipped around him and moved to the sink.

"I don't know why you haven't seen it, Albus," he continued, turning on the tap. "But you and Potter have been at odds for the past few days, and I, personally, am weary. Fix it."

Albus was stunned by the blunt words, so much so, that he was rendered silent for a few moments as his mind raced backwards, searching for signs of what Severus was saying. He had no reason to doubt what the potions master had said, at least not in this. Severus had an uncanny knack for seeing the tiniest facets of a situation, something that had made him an ideal aid in the war effort, and now, years later, he had no reason to doubt him. If he believed something was amiss between himself and Harry, then almost certainly, something was wrong.

Albus recalled his own thoughts earlier that evening when he had absently thought about the unnatural silence surrounding his little ward. He never even considered that whatever it was that was bothering Harry had something to do with him. Was it his absence maybe?

"Hardly," Severus snorted, drawing him back from his thoughts.

Dumbledore quirked a brow at the younger wizard for a moment, before looking away, realising he had not been particularly careful in shielding his thoughts from those around him. It was a sign of the trust he placed in the man, he supposed idly, that he felt no need to guard his mind from him. But that was besides the point now. Severus obviously thought he was on the wrong track of thought, and perhaps, in the interest of time (for he would have to go put his boy to bed in forty or so minutes), he best seek a direct answer from the potions master, who was still in the process of washing a, by now, sparkling cup.

"Then what is the issue, Severus?" he asked flatly. "You seem more knowledgeable than me in this? Guide an old man if you will."

The potions master turned, and shot him an unreadable look over his shoulder. Taking his time, the man moved with grace as he set aside the cup, fingers tapping idly as he looked for something else to occupy himself with as he spoke. Finding nothing, the dark haired man sighed, and settled for crossing his arms across himself in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner.

"Old man," he began, a slight sneer on his lips, "Potter is wary of you, has been for the past two weeks, and is becoming increasingly so."

Well, that was true, Albus reflected. Put in that light, he could more easily account for some of Harry's behaviour recently; the shying away from him, the tentative tone. They were all things that Harry had done in the initial days when he had not been completely at ease around him.

"Do you know why?" he asked abruptly, "Has Harry told you?"

"Do you know Potter to willingly speak of something?" Severus retorted with a slight snort, comfortable in the slightly derisive attitude he was currently displaying. Merlin alone knew what would happen if the headmaster got an inkling that he was actually (mildly!) concerned.

"I suppose not," Albus said ruefully, stroking at his beard.

"He would not," Severus confirmed. "I'm sure if you really thought about it, Albus, you would realise what is wrong with the whelp, but time, I suppose, is of the essence. I will not have a morose child in my lessons one day longer, so you and he will resolve this tonight."

At another time, Albus might have taken offence at the tone being used toward him, but for now he let it go. First, because he was now preoccupied by Harry, and secondly, because he knew that Severus needed to exert some authority, lest he lose his nerves for actually (covertly) admitting his concerns.

"I hope to resolve it," he agreed, "if only you could be more specific on what exactly is bothering my little one?"

"Occlumency," Snape snapped, twisting slightly. "The boy's hardly been the same since the lessons started. Oh, don't start, Albus. Yes, I know the sessions are unnerving to him, but his fear of the sessions have transcended to a wariness of you. I don't know what's going on in the boy's head, and quite frankly I don't want to know what an eleven year old thinks about on a daily basis. What I do know though is that Potter is starting to fear you, and you are too preoccupied with guilt to handle him properly."

Guilt?

Was that what he had been experiencing the past few weeks? Undoubtedly he was, for with every trip into Harry's mind, he was reminded once again of his failures, of another little boy he had disappointed. But certainly he had not allowed it to cloud his interactions with the boy? Severus seemed to think so, and, currently, the man seemed to have great insight into a situation, while he, until now, had been unaware.

"Like I said," the potions master continued, breaking him from his thoughts, "I don't know why exactly he fears you. Frankly, that is something for the both of you to discuss, not me. However, it needs to be discussed and soon. I suggest tonight, before whatever little trip it is that you're planning for the boy, and I say now, I am not going."

The last few lines made the headmaster blink in surprise. Had he been so vocal in his thoughts for the entire afternoon? Apparently so. He hoped he had not thought anything too damning, or else it would undoubtedly serve as ammunition for the potions master at a later time.

"Well?" Severus, half demanded, arching a brow at him.

"I will talk to him," Albus agreed, rubbing contemplatively at his beard. "And tonight. If the situation is as bad as you say, there is no time like the present."

Severus nodded gruffly, turning away as Albus rose and headed for the doorway. Before leaving though, the headmaster turned back and shot him a tender smile. "Severus?"

"What?" he asked, half defensively, not at all liking the soft look on the man's face. It was exactly what he had been trying to avoid in this whole conversation.

"Thank you," he said sincerely, his eyes twinkling softly. "I truly cannot raise Harry without your help. Thank you for being there when I falter."

Severus' only reply was a snort as he whipped around, refusing to become part of the sentimentality. Which really was a lost cause, he acknowledged fifteen minutes later when he perused the spread of tea things he had assembled. Since when did he make 'comfort' food, and especially for the old coot in particular for whenever he was finished with the whelp?

It was Potter's fault he decided, as he headed for the old man's office. Him and those emerald eyes that always had him doing things he had expressly stated that he had no intention of doing.

Silly whelp. . . . He hoped he would be okay.

*

"Sir?" Harry repeated. His body tensed slightly as the man passed by him to sit on the edge of his bed, a sad look in his eyes. "You did?"

A deep sigh escaped the wizard, and Harry found himself looking towards the door that he had left partially open. He had never seen the headmaster in such a dower state; and, he was not comfortable with it in the least. A part of him was ashamed of that fact, but in the moments it took the headmaster to finally respond to him, Harry had already determined that he could escape the room if he needed before the headmaster got him within his reach. He hated to even think of that in relation to the white haired man, nevertheless, he had learnt long ago that an upset man tended to lash out, and he was usually the object of that rage.

"I did, my boy," the headmaster said sombrely, his tone drawing Harry's gaze from the doorway and back to him. "I am responsible for the problems you had - has it already been so long since then?"

For all that the man was speaking to him, the headmaster's gaze was firmly averted. Indeed, to the eleven year old, it seemed as if the wizard was doing what he had been earlier, seeking solace in the night sky. Harry found himself relaxing the slightest bit, comforted in knowing that they had something in common.

"That episode you had then...what is it that you call it, child?"

"A-acting funny," Harry all but whispered, resisting the urge to draw his legs up when the blue eyes – without even a hint of a twinkle – landed on him.

The headmaster was out of the character he had come to associate him with... too out of character for the little boy. Suddenly, Harry felt an urge to seek the snarky presence of the potions master. Surely he would be able to put everything back into the natural order. For a second, Harry's eyes drifted to the door, and he could have sworn that he saw a hint of black cloth. But it had gone and he determined that it had just been wishful thinking.

"How quaint children are with words," the headmaster whispered, an odd quirk at the edge of his mouth before his expression grew grim once again. "Severus thinks that I have been too hasty with you, although why he did not tell me this then eludes me. Nevertheless, I cannot undo my actions, and can only hope to help you with the consequences of my hastiness, that is, if you will let me."

The man wasn't making much sense, Harry thought, eyeing him carefully. But then again, the potions master had told him the day before that his guardian always danced around things before finally getting to the point of whatever it was he wanted to say. Maybe, this was one of those times, as he had been told, to prod the man into the right direction.

"Sir," he said tentatively, "what are you saying?"

The headmaster gave a short laugh as he rocked back slightly, a hand reaching up to stroke through his beard. "I heard what you were thinking before I entered the room, child. No, don't look so panicked, I am not a mind reader, at least, not in the muggle sense. It's just that you were broadcasting your thoughts and I could not help but hear them. I promise you that I will teach you how to control that someday, but for now, the people who have the skills to pick up such thoughts are in the minority, so you have little to fear.

"But that is beside the point. You're afraid of me for so many things, aren't you? And no, my little one, you are not to blame for how you feel. Adults haven't given you much reason to trust them in the past have they? I understand that it's only to be expected that you view me in the same light. And truly, despite my best efforts, I have not been entirely working in your favour, although it had been my aim.

"Let me explain it to you, child, the reason for your 'funniness', and the gaps you've noticed in your memory. That is, if you'd allow me?" As he spoke, the headmaster patted the place next to him in an open invitation for Harry to come to him, something the boy had not done willingly for the past few days.

Harry stared at the spot the man indicated, debating on what to do. An explanation was what he had been seeking for the entire day, and now, the chance for answers had arrived and now the opportunity lay open before him. He wanted to take it, truly, he did, and at any other moment, he would have leapt at the chance. But not now, for the headmaster's demeanour was different, and therefore unnerving to him. If the man had been his usual smiling and twinkling self, nothing would have caused Harry to hesitate. Indeed, in the time he was taking now thinking, he could have already been snuggling into the man's side, breathing in that scent of lemon that was part and parcel of Dumbledore's person. As it was, Harry was not too trustful of this dour figure, but was it enough to prevent him from seeking out the answers he wanted to hear, and the comfort he might possibly derive from it?

He couldn't decide and remained torn in what to do until he risked glancing up into the headmaster's eyes. And it was then he saw it. Despite the dourness and the odd quality to the headmaster's voice, there was that look in his eyes, one that shone out through the sadness pervading his gaze. It was that tender, inviting look that the man always wore when he looked upon him. The look that told the eleven year old that he was special and important to the man. That expression had warmed his heart so many times in the past few months, and now, Harry found comfort in it as well. The expression was a reminder to him that, despite his fears and the difference in the headmaster's behaviour, the man before him was still the one who had given him a home and showered him with affection. Smiling or not, the person before him was his headmaster, the man who cared for him. And he would not let his fear keep him from the man's side, no matter the unpleasantness that might come with his reply.

And so, taking a deep breath, Harry cast aside his doubts and rose. Hesitantly, and then with slightly more surety, Harry crossed the short distance between himself and the man, glancing into his eyes once again before he sat on the indicated spot.

"I do, sir," he stated quietly, not fully meeting his eyes this time. "I do want to know, please tell me?"

The headmaster's demeanour improved drastically within a few seconds Harry noted and he was happy to see a trace of twinkle in the man's eyes as he grasped a bit of his robe with his nearest hand.

"I will, child."

*

Slowly, the headmaster brought his hand up, and for the first time in a long while, Harry did not feel the urge to move away when the man's hand encountered his face, rubbing gently. "I had not planned on holding this conversation with you for a long time – if ever," Dumbledore admitted softly. "But then again, I never anticipated having such a clever lad as a ward."

Harry flushed slightly at the bit of praise. "Thanks," he murmured softly.

"It is the truth, my boy." Albus smiled, patting his cheek. His expression then sobered, before he continued speaking. "When you first came to me child, I thought that you were one of the sweetest, most well behaved children that I have ever come across in all my years. Yes, you tend to wander about after curfew, but that was the extent of your naughtiness. You were ever so polite and eager to obey that I took it as part of your nature, and thus, when your relatives died, I saw absolutely no issue with taking you in.

"Oh no, don't get that look in your eyes, my boy. I absolutely adore you and am glad you are here, make no doubt about that. What I am saying though is that I took that as part of your natural nature. However, I think it only took a few hours of you coming here to cement something that had occurred to me earlier. That maybe your behaviour was not completely natural but partially learnt. And unfortunately, child, I found myself to be right."

The man paused for a moment, and in that time Harry found himself wringing his hands nervously. He was not entirely sure that he was pleased with the direction the conversation was heading into. He himself could barely recall his first days here, but undoubtedly, based on the headmaster's reactions, he had acted strangely. And, as he was insinuating, it went back to his relatives' treatment of him; something the headmaster had deemed inappropriate. But now, the man was speaking again, and Harry found himself drawing away from his thoughts to listen to his words.

"I acted rashly, Harry. The moment I realised that you had suffered abuse, I – well, I suppose I panicked. I did not want that stain on you, so I went about removing it in the fastest way possible. That is why you have gaps in your memory, Harry, especially of your first day here. I chose to remove the memories from your mind that I thought were restricting you. I didn't even think to check for hidden memories, nor did I consider repercussions...although, I suppose I should have expected some..."

The man's voice drifted off then, and his eyes gained a far away look that plainly indicated that, for the moment at least, he was lost in his own thoughts. Not that Harry minded, for currently he too was attempting to wrap his mind around the man's words. What was he supposed to do now that he knew the truth? The headmaster really was responsible for the uneasiness he had felt, and yet, Harry was not sure how he felt about the entire situation.

On the one hand, he supposed that he felt alarm. The headmaster had invaded his privacy and caused him so many problems. His actions were what had led to the incident in the potion master's office. At that time, he had followed instructions he did not remember learning, and thus, had panicked. That was the headmaster's fault, as with all the other related moments of confusion he had suffered. However, could he hold it against the man? Truly, he did not think he could.

Because, the crux of the matter was that the headmaster had meant him no real harm. He had done what he thought best, and Harry could not hold that against him. Indeed, strange as it may seem, the boy felt slightly warmed by the man's actions. The headmaster had taken such a drastic action out of concern for him. He could not help but feel a bit of joy at that. His relatives certainly had never exhibited such concern for him...it was nice. The consequences certainly were not, but the thoughts behind the actions certainly were.

So, could he forgive and excuse the man for all the problems he had suffered recently? Truly, Harry did not think that there was anyway he could not. Yes the headmaster had made a mistake but it resulted from him doing something he thought was best for his ward. More than that, the man had been so forthcoming with the information; he could have simply denied it, but instead had owned up to his errors. That was something respectable.

However, above all else, the eleven year old knew that he could not hold such a thing against a person who had done so much for him, all for his own good. Clothes, shelter, food and affection. All had been scarce for him before, and were now readily available so much so that at times he felt simply overwhelmed. And all of that had come to him from the grey haired man beside him with a far away expression on his face. The headmaster had improved his life in so many ways; occlumency lessons put aside, this was the happiest Harry ever remembered his life being. He wanted that to continue. He enjoyed the affection bestowed upon him, and, for all of his earlier fear, had missed the absence of such caresses the past few days.

His aunt had always showered Dudley with pats, hugs and kisses, and although he had learned never to expect those, Harry had always wondered what it would be like to experience it. He had that chance now and would hate for it to end. Even the potions master, in his own surly way, was affectionate, and had been especially accommodating when he had turned to the dark haired man in lieu of his headmaster. The man had not rebuffed him, and for that he was glad. However, it was not the same. For the potions master was not his guardian. Indeed, he was not entirely sure what the potions master was to him. Headmaster Dumbledore on the other hand – his role was firmly established and thus, his affections had a different significance to him than his professor.

And so he knew he had no choice but to forgive the headmaster, and in doing so, dissolve the barrier he had raised around himself while he had been trapped in uncertainty about the man. Yes, he had his answer.

With a small smile in place, Harry focussed on his guardian, cocking his head slightly as he noted that the man was still in thought, although there was a distinct look of sadness on his face. He was not sure why the man was sad, and somehow knew it did not directly relate to him. However, for now, he would try to erase at least a portion of that sadness. A ghost of mischief danced across his face as he moved slowly, the headmaster not even reacting as the hand he had had on him slipped away. Tentatively, Harry closed the small space between them, reaching out to touch the man. The man jumped despite the gentleness of Harry's hold and Harry shot him a sheepish look, eyes reflecting an apology before he spoke.

"It's okay sir," he stated, flexing his fingers.

"What is this child?"

The man looked at him with genuine confusion before he raised his own hand and covered the smaller one holding on to him.

"You care for me," Harry whispered, "I understand that."

Harry shifted slightly so that he could rest his head against the man's side, content to listen to whatever else he had to say.

"Just like that?" the man said, a bit disconcerted. Briefly, he wondered just how much time he had been lost in his thoughts about Severus and what he could have done differently. Somewhere along the line he had drifted off, so much so that Harry had reached some conclusion within himself and was obviously over his revelation. A part of him knew that he should be grateful, but there was still what Severus had said.

Harry raised his head slowly, sighing slightly. "You did it because you were worried about me. I don't like it, but I understand that. It's okay."

"Such simple logic," Albus murmured in surprise.

"I'm a simple person."

"Who's spent too much time with Severus if that remark indicated anything," he chuckled.

Harry flushed slightly at that. For a second he worried at taking too many liberties with the man before he dismissed it. He was free to express himself here. Albus ruffled his hair lightly, still slightly amazed at the boy's easy acceptance. He would broach the matter again later he decided, but for now, he would accept it. The boy's expression radiated quiet contentment and he would accept it for now. However, there was one other issue.

"And what of occlumency, my boy?" he asked softly.

"I really don't like it sir," he admitted. "Isn't there any other way?"

Albus was startled at the blunt honesty in Harry's words. Usually he hedged slightly before replying. His immediate response implied that he put a lot of consideration into the matter. The man rubbed at his chin contemplatively as he considered.

"I suppose there is another way my boy."

And there was. The ultimate goal of the lessons was to hone Harry's natural skills in occlumency, and in doing so ensure that he would not be at the mercy of his memories. He had decided to integrate the healer's second bit of advice into the process, but, he supposed it could be separated. He put the notion to the boy. Instead of their current routine, in which he had been forcing the boy to confront his past while simultaneously learning control, he could focus on the latter.

"If you desire Harry, I can deconstruct the lesson plans."

"How sir?"

"What if I focus solely, for now, on helping you control your shields? I won't focus on your memories particularly, at least not with the intensity I am now. That is what's bothering you right?"

"I suppose," Harry allowed, his expression growing thoughtful as he considered it. "Yes, it is. I don't like when you tell me how I should think."

"Then I shall stop," Albus promised, giving him a small smile.

Unknowingly Harry was broadcasting his thoughts once again, and, the headmaster could not resist a quick peek in to gauge the nature of his ward's thoughts. What he found both disheartened and re-bolstered his resolve.

Even as Albus had been helping the boy strengthen his mental barriers, he had been ingraining fear into him. In hindsight, the man wondered at his surprise at that outcome. It seemed almost inevitable as he considered it from the boy's point of view. The man wondered how different, at those moments, had he been from the boy's relatives who had dominated him. He had been channelling them, trying to govern the way the child thought, and so, it was not truly a surprise that his ward had grown wary of him. Thankfully, now he could ensure that that was rectified.

It was over an hour later when Albus left the room after tucking in a sleepy Harry. He would sleep in he reckoned, after noting that it was almost eleven. It was alright though, they could always have breakfast at one of the shops at Diagon on their trip tomorrow. Not that he had remembered to mention it to Harry amidst their conversation. It was alright though, and he would enjoy the boy's look of surprise in the morning.

One thing he definitely had to remember, he reminded himself, was to thank Severus for his intervention. Without him he may have still been unaware of what had been affecting Harry. Once again he thought about how lucky he was to have Severus. He ought to do something special for the man. He surely deserved it.

So lost in his thoughts was he, that it completely slipped him that Severus' bedroom door had closed exactly as he had left Harry's room. He would never know that the potions master had stood watch outside the room, a secret guardian ready to intervene if necessary.

Severus too was deep in contemplation as he went about his nightly routine. Finally, he was ready to admit to what he had been denying recently. He cared about the brat – deeply so – and not simply because of who his mother was. Despite himself, he had become invested in Harry's life and would do anything he thought necessary to ensure that the messy haired, green-eyed brat would have fulfilling, happy days.


	20. Chapter 20

"Don't even ask."

"I wasn't going to ask anything, Severus," Albus said innocently, his lips quirking around the rim of his mug.

"You were thinking of asking," Severus corrected smoothly, as he took another bit of his sausage. "You're carrying Potter out and want me to come along."

"Well," the headmaster began slyly, "I wasn't thinking along those lines particularly, but since you're offering..."

"King of manipulation you are not, old man," Severus snorted, although the elder wizard would swear that he saw a glimmer of humour in his eyes. "I was not, am not, and will not offer to go along, so clear your mind of all such thoughts."

"And yet you are the one who brought up the issue in the first place," Dumbledore pointed out, his lips quirking. "Which means that you are int—"

"Dressed already, Potter?" Severus questioned, disregarding the old wizard in favour of turning towards the doorway.

It was a sign of how in tune he had become with the young wizard that he had heard the soft patter of his footsteps. Potter never entered without permission if a conversation was going on, preferring to stand and await acknowledgement.

"Yes sir," Harry affirmed, taking the unspoken invitation to enter and move to the man's side.

"Shirt buttoned correctly?" the potions master asked.

His tone seemed serious, but Harry, upon glancing into his eyes saw a trace of humour in their depths. It was a joke between them, stemming from that one time his shirt had to be fixed for him. He was not seven after all, and was fully capable of dressing himself. It had been a one-time mistake, but the man enjoyed teasing him about it for some reason.

"Laces are secured too," he offered, gaining a ghost of a smile from the man.

Across the table, the headmaster looked on with a mixture of amusement and bemusement. A secondary conversation were occurring between the two that he did not understand, but it was irrelevant in face of the honest contentment on Harry's face as he spoke softly to the man. It was a pity that Severus would not join them, he noted as he drained the last of his coffee. It would have been nice to witness a continuation of such banter between them. Both of his boys broke slightly out of their normal character at those times and interacted in a normal way.

"Are you certain that you've eaten enough to tide you over?" Severus added presently as he tugged lightly at the boy's hair.

"I have, sir," Harry assured him.

"Regardless, I plan on plying him with treats the entire day, Severus. He will not want for food."

"Sweets are not food," Severus rebutted, sending him a mild glare before returning his attention to Harry. "You, Potter, are not to have more than three sweets today, understand? That one will try to stuff you with sweets and I will be displeased if you let that happen."

"Pay him no mind, Harry," Albus stated as he cleared the table with a wave of his wand. "He is worried that we won't bring back a chocolate frog for him."

"Do you want one, sir?" the boy asked curiously, brow crinkling slightly as the man continued to brush at his hair.

"You need a haircut. And no, I do not. However, if you insist on bringing me something, I am partial to Blood Pops."

"I'll remember," Harry promised. "Are you sure you don't want to come, sir? The headmaster says that it will be fun."

Severus leaned back, reaching for the teapot Albus had left. "I do not consider navigating crowded streets filled with chattering people fun, Potter. I will spend the day tending to the greenhouse. It is overdue."

"Can I help?" Harry inquired. "I've never been in there."

"You can," the potions master agreed, sipping at the tea. "That is if this one does not tire you out completely with this trip of his."

"I'll try not to," Albus promised, handing Harry a robe. "Ready to go, my boy?"

"Yes, headmaster," he agreed eagerly.

The man beamed at him and went ahead to connect the floo. "Have a good day, sir," he said sincerely.

"And you," Severus returned. "Don't wander off and stay by his side. There isn't anyway you can get lost in the Alley, but let's not take any risks, shall we?"

"I won't," Harry promised before leaving the man with a last wave.

*

Harry instinctively clutched onto the headmaster as they stepped out of the floo in order to keep his balance. Already on each trek through the network, he had stumbled, necessitating his guardian to steady him before he fell. This time though, he thought proudly, he managed to keep fully upright. A faint flush coloured his face when he noticed his guardian's amused eyes on him. Apparently, the man had guessed at his thoughts.

"Headmaster, welcome!" a jovial voice called out, and Harry, startled, tightened his grip slightly as he looked around the room.

Dumbledore patted the hand that held on to him reassuringly, before he turned to greet the inn's landlord. "Hello, Tom," he smiled. "I see you're busy."

"Business booming, as always!"

The man came over to them, looking down curiously at Harry, who peered back at him. He had only seen the man fleetingly in the previous year. Aunt Petunia (although disgusted by the fact) had known how to access the Alley, and so had dragged him through the place as quickly as possible. The innkeeper had waved to him then and called after him to enjoy the wizarding world. He hadn't had the chance to answer him then as his aunt had hurried him through a wall only a step behind another group of persons.

"And who is this one, Headmaster?" he inquired.

"This one is in my care today," Albus informed him smoothly, "Say hello, Evan."

Harry blinked at the name, but seeing the speaking look in the headmaster's eyes turned to the innkeeper. "H-hello sir," he said softly.

The man smiled broadly at him. "A bit shy isn't he?"

"First time here," the headmaster explained. "Which reminds me. . . ."

The wizard's wand seemingly appeared in his hand as he waved it around for a moment, ending by tapping himself lightly on the head. Harry's eyes widened as the headmaster's features altered. Within seconds, the grandfatherly old man was gone, replaced by the younger appearance Harry had first seen the previous October. Harry looked around quickly to see if anyone had noticed. From his experience with the headmaster, he had come to realise that this disguise of the man was a secret – well at least in Hogwarts, he corrected, given the way the man had put in on in a relatively public area.

A wall blocked the place they were in partially. It hid them somewhat from the main area. Maybe, Harry reasoned, it had been done so that people like them would not floo in to the Inn and cause a disruption? He would ask later.

"Glamour, headmaster?"

"Evan is shy enough," he said, pocketing the wand. "I won't have him disturbed by my admirers. I hope this isn't too disconcerting for you, Evan? I forgot to mention it to you when I first collected you."

"I-It's fine, sir," Harry said quickly, and it was. Had he not seen this disguise before he might have reacted more strongly. As if, he connoted this appearance with safety as well, and so, had no fear of it.

"Good, good," the man nodded. "We'll be on our way now, Tom. I'm looking forward to showing him the Alley."

"I should be getting back to my customers anyway," the man agreed. "Nice seeing you, headmaster, and you too, Evan."

"And you, Tom."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Tom," Harry stated before following the headmaster.

He kept quiet as they walked through the inn towards the back, but once the crowd was behind them, he spoke again. "He didn't recognise me, sir?"

"He wouldn't have," Albus smiled, reaching down to clasp a hand on his shoulder. "Severus cast a glamour on you while he was messing around with your hair."

Instinctively, Harry's hand went to his face, much to the man's amusement.

"He didn't change you that much," the headmaster reassured him. "Just flattened your hair to hide your forehead. Now that I think about it, he just accentuated Lily's features on you. It's subtle, but enough to throw off anyone who doesn't know you personally."

"Aunt Petunia was angry last time," Harry revealed while the man tapped at the wall. "The wand maker said my name loudly and people surrounded us."

The eleven year old grimaced slightly at the memory. Being surrounded by complete strangers who all seemed determined to touch him – even as his Aunt shrieked about uncouth people – had been, and still was, disconcerting. He had been a bit wary about of a reoccurrence of the scenario, but had determined that the headmaster could avert it. He really had not considered that the man too, in his own right, was quite popular and would attract his own attention.

"I suppose she would have been," the headmaster said neutrally, guiding them into the Alley. "I meant to send you a letter soon after the owls were dispatched, but found it unnecessary."

"For what, sir?"

"Hogwarts has a system in place child," he explained. "Where professors are sent to muggle born students to introduce them to the wizarding world and teach them how to navigate it.

"You are one of a few muggle-raised among your year, and it occurred to me after the fact that you may have benefited from the system as well. It reached me though that you had been spotted in the Alley and I surmised that your aunt recalled enough from you mother's time to get your things."

"She didn't like that she did," Harry answered.

The headmaster did not respond, and when Harry looked up at him, he saw a frown on the man's face. Harry feared that he had upset the man with his words, and so apologised quickly.

Albus stared at him in bemusement for a moment before shaking his head lightly, his smile once more in place. "Don't mind an old man child," he encouraged him. "I drift off at times. Now, where shall we head to first?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted. "Where do you want to go?"

"The trip is for you, my boy!" he told him jovially. "We can go anywhere; from the Owlery to the bookstore and everything in between!"

The man waved his hand lavishly as he spoke and Harry found himself chuckling softly at his display. "Umm...the bookstore?"

"As you desire," Albus smiled. "You could do with some new stories to read. Severus and I chose them randomly as we were not certain what you would enjoy."

"I enjoyed them all, sir," he said ardently as they walked toward and then entered the establishment.

The place was a lot emptier than he recalled. There were only a handful of people milling around, so the place was relatively peaceful.

"It's quiet," he murmured as they walked towards the fiction section.

"The owls will be dispatched on Monday," he was informed. "Then you would wonder if it's the same place. Perhaps we should order your school supplies now?"

"We don't have the list, sir," Harry pointed out before flushing. His guardian ran the school. Of course, he would know what he would require. "I forgot."

"Not an issue," Albus chuckled. "Why don't you go browse for a bit while I speak to the owner about them okay? We'll make a second trip for your other supplies but you can get a head start on the reading."

"Yes, sir," Harry agreed. He waited until the man was out of his sight before he turned to the shelves, perusing the selection.

He had not been kidding when he had told the man he had enjoyed all the books. His reason was simple. He had not had the pleasure of reading for so long that anything was appealing to him. However, that would not be good enough for the man he supposed and therefore, paid particular attention to the titles.

Which of the stories had he enjoyed the most? The fairytales he supposed. He was quite fascinated with them, more so because the vast majority of the creatures and persons that were fables in the muggle world were real for the wizarding community. There was also the fact that he could distinctly remember his cousin sitting between his parents as they read fables to him. It was something he had always wanted, and so that desire had transcended into his fascination with fairytales.

"Are you looking for yourself or a sibling?" a kind voice asked.

Harry jumped, spinning around to stare with wide eyes at the teenager looking at him. He was a worker, he surmised, by the apron tied around his waist. "M-myself," he stammered after a moment.

"Shall I help you then?" he offered, even as he moved closer to him.

"Okay."

For the next five minutes, Harry stood with the assistant, listening with interest as the teenager told him brief summaries of the books he was familiar with. As time passed he grew more comfortable with the stranger's presence and even discussed some of the stories he had read.

"Are you here alone?"

"My guardian is getting my school books."

The teenager looked at him in surprise. "You go to Hogwarts then? Are you a first year?"

"I'm going into my second year."

"I haven't seen you around," he said in a musing tone, before he shrugged it off. "My name is David. My family owns this place."

"I'm H-Evan."

"Nice to meet you Evan," he said, shaking his hand. He seemed not to notice Harry's hesitation, something he was glad for. "I think that's your guardian?"

Harry turned quickly and smiled at the familiar person walking down the aisle toward them. "That's him," he beamed.

"I see you've made a friend, Evan?" he asked cordially. "Thank you for watching the lad for me."

"It's no problem, sir," David said. "It' my job after all."

"And a wonderful job you're doing. Are these the books you've selected child? Quite a variety. Why don't you go rest them on the counter? Your school books should be ready as well."

"Yes, sir," Harry nodded. "Bye, David. Thank you for helping me."

"You're welcome, Evan," he stated.

The assistant remained in place after he left though, for he had gotten the feeling that the boy's guardian had more to say to him. He was proved right moments later, when the man, after ensuring that Evan was out of hearing range, spoke again.

"Are there any other titles he had his eyes on?" he inquired. "His birthday is coming up and I am sure there are others he'd love to have. Do you know a way I can get them without him noticing?"

The teenager after a moment's contemplation said, "I can make a note of them and have my father deliver them, sir."

Albus beamed. "That will be perfect."

*

Severus glanced around him contentedly, pleased with his accomplishments. The greenhouse was finally organised – well, reorganised. The layout of it had needed changing, given that there was a pre-teen in the household that needed catering for. While he knew exactly which plants needed avoiding or required protective wear when handling, Potter did not, and would not be able to for several more years. And so, he had had to compensate for that fact. He had been working in the greenhouse during his admitted scarce free time recently, and Albus' impromptu trip to Diagon Alley gave him the respite needed to finish the task – well, mostly anyway. He was careful to leave a few rows of herbs for Potter to 'help' him complete sometime. The boy had asked to after all, and, seeing that he rarely asked for anything, Severus would facilitate him.

Dusting his hands off, the potions master stood, surveying the greenhouse for anything he had overlooked. Basically, he had divided the greenhouse into two sections. The back portion was barred to Potter by an age-line. The most dangerous plants – some of which even he approached with caution – or the most valuable ones were now housed there. There was absolutely no way Potter would be getting anywhere near those. Accessible to him were the mostly harmless plants, both magical and non-magical. Many of them would be on his syllabus for the next few years, Severus thought, and therefore it would not hurt for him to be exposed to them beforehand.

It would certainly lessen the gap between him and his classmates, Severus noted, as he walked toward the cleaning station, carrying his tools with him. He often pondered on suggesting a sort of Pre-Hogwarts class for those living outside of the wizarding world. There were many things that witches and wizards took for granted; even he was guilty of it. Simple things that budding students learnt unconsciously from observing their parents were lost on those who resided in the muggle world, and more often than not, the Professors did not take this into account, leaving it up to the student to catch up as best as they could on their own. Some students caught on rapidly, for example, the Granger girl he had occasionally seen in Harry's presence; however, others, like Harry himself, needed someone to teach them the missing knowledge. He had, since his arrival here, been trying to fill in the blanks in the boy's understanding of the wizarding world, and, thus far, believed his actions to be successful.

There was a sudden creak from the general direction of the entrance to the greenhouse, and turning slightly, Severus was mildly surprised to see Potter standing there, a small smile on his face as he met his gaze. The potions master quickly checked the time and was slightly shocked to note that it was almost three in the afternoon. Time flew quickly when one worked, he decided, before reaching for another tool and jerking his head in invitation to the boy as he deftly scrubbed the dirt off a trowel.

Harry took several moments to reach his position, preoccupied with looking around and taking in as much of the environment he was in. Sparing him a short glance, Severus felt a hint of pride at the slight awe in Harry's expression. He could not help it; he loved seeing his work appreciated. Eventually though, the eleven year old reached his side.

"It's so different," he said.

"From Hogwarts?" Snape inquired as he set one tool aside and reached for another. "Grab that old towel there. You can dry for me."

"Yes sir." Obediently, the boy followed the directive, before standing on Snape's right and reaching for a tool.

Potter was often freer with his thoughts when preoccupied with a task and the wizard took advantage of the fact currently, curious to gauge the boy's mentality after his conversation with Albus the previous night.

"Now what were you saying?"

"I had a greenhouse in my primary school," Harry revealed softly. "But this one, and Hogwarts', is so much better."

"I would think so, since these are magical ones."

The boy lifted his head to look at him, and from his expression the potions master gleaned faint amusement. The distance he had had with Albus had actually, at least in this way, been beneficial. The extra time in his company had chipped away at the invisible wall standing between them. Although hardly as much as with Albus, Harry was considerably more expressive with him than he had been previously, and so, Severus felt secure enough to lessen the controls he had placed on himself initially. Now that Potter understand that satire and wit were part and parcel of his nature, he no longer felt obligated to police himself with him, trusting the boy to realise the moments when his words were truly sarcastic, or him simply using the dry-wit he was fond of.

"I meant plants," the boy said, looking away. "All we had were flowers and they hardly lived long. Nobody remembered to water them."

"The poor things," Severus mock-drawled. "I am certain though that yours survived?"

"It did," Harry stated with a small smile. "I used to hide there so I took care of it. I got a star one time for it."

"A star?"

"A sticker, sir," he explained further, his smile broadening slightly. "A cleaner got it for me cuz she said my flowers were the prettiest things she did ever see."

Given how he usually spoke, Severus was certain that Potter was saying the person's words exactly. Without thinking, he reached down and patted the boy's head for a moment, turning back before he could see the slight confusion in Potter's eyes. He had felt compelled to do it. For the boy to recall precisely such praise for something fairly (at least in his opinion) insignificant was telling.

"You were in the greenhouse a lot then?"

"Dudley and his friends never looked for me there."

"Your cousin?" Severus probed, noting the slight change in tone of the boy.

"They liked chasing me around. They hardly ever caught me though."

"Rarely."

"Huh?"

"Instead of 'hardly ever', say 'rarely'. Your vocabulary needs expanding."

Potter blinked at him for a moment before nodding slightly. He had, by now, become used to the potions master intertwining little lessons into their conversations.

"They rarely did," he amended before continuing. "We weren't supposed to take care of anyone else's plants or else I would have done it too."

"Very commendable," the wizard nodded, passing the last tool to him for drying.

A minute later, they were walking about the greenhouse while Severus pointed out a few of the plants to him. They would spend some more time in the greenhouse tomorrow, he declared, in lieu of the regular lesson, but for now, they (or rather Potter) would explore it at his leisure.

"How was your outing?" the potions master eventually asked, seating himself on a bench.

Potter was still over by a row of Fluttery Bushes. Obviously, the quivering and shaking of the plants had attracted his attention, Severus thought wryly. It took the boy a long moment before he turned to him, seemingly torn between continuing his perusal of the plants and coming to him to speak.

"You may answer from there," he invited. It was another thing the Dursleys had apparently inculcated into the boy. When spoken to, Potter, unless told otherwise, tended to drop whatever her was doing and come over, standing at attention, with his head carefully lowered. So far, they had managed to get him to look up and were now trying to nip the habit completely.

"It was great, sir," Harry said honestly, reaching out gently to caress one of the plants. It froze and he tensed, turning quickly to look at his professor.

"That is natural, Potter," he told him. "It will move again in a minute or two."

The boy nodded, but, apparently unnerved, came to his side and sat, pulling up his legs comfortably. "We went everywhere, sir. It was so much better than my first time there."

"Oh?"

For the next few minutes, Severus listened diligently while the boy spoke, his voice growing more excited as time went by. His eyes sparkled as well, leading to a small smile forming on his own lips as well. Potter was so much more content than before. He was glad to see it. The old man did well, he admitted to himself, humming appropriately when Harry looked at him expectantly before he re-launched into his description of the day.

"And I didn't know that potions could actually taste good, sir," he finished, before flushing slightly at the quirked brow the statement garnered him.

"And just which potion did you taste today, Mr. Potter?" Severus asked with mock-sternness.

"Um," Harry hedged, his foot twitching. "A peppermint one..."

The boy looked away as he spoke, but although Severus never saw this particular behaviour in the boy before, it was not entirely unfamiliar to him. It was something distinct to Potter, he thought quickly, shoving aside all the negative emotions that threatened to rise as he got a flash of remembrance of another messy haired person. Potter – James Potter that is, always bore such an expression when stalling to think of a proper excuse to get himself out of trouble. A trait passed on to his son apparently. It was bound to happen eventually though, Severus thought, and thus he pushed aside thoughts of the elder Potter, and focussed exclusively on the one before him now.

"There are only a few potions, Potter," he stated, "that I can think off that require peppermint. And, had the old man listened to me, none of them would have been necessary."

The boy's sudden widened eyes were all the proof Severus needed, and he growled softly. "Just how many sweets did he feed you," he sighed.

"Just one..." Harry said hesitantly, before blanching slightly at the look the man gave him.

"Potter," Severus stated, a hint of warning in his voice. He would not have the boy covering for the old man.

The boy nipped his lip slightly but repeated the answer. "Only one, sir."

Potter met his gaze directly, and his stammer was notably absent. He was being sincere Severus realised, but then again, he knew the old coot. "Let me guess," he said dryly, "Dumbledore bought you one sweet treat, made up of about four or five different things."

Harry nodded slowly, uncertain of the potion master's mood.

"The man is a menace," Severus grumbled even as he reached out to tousle Harry's hair, a reassurance to him that he was not annoyed. "You felt better immediately after, I hope?"

"Yes sir."

"Good." He nodded before dropping the matter. Albus had wanted the boy to have the best day possible, and, apparently, Potter did have a wonderful day. He would not hold feeding the boy too many sweets against him. Unless... "You did get me a Blood Pop?"

"The headmaster bought you a bag," Harry told him, his smile in place once again. "Some chocolates as well."

If they were the liquor variety, he decided, he would keep his peace.

"Oh, and I saw Hermione today. She looked kind of sad."

"Did you talk to her?" he inquired, rising and indicating for the boy to do the same. "It's almost time for tea, and I rather not have the old man coming to look for us."

Harry rose and followed him. "I didn't, sir. She wouldn't have known it was me. You put a glamour on me."

The last was said with a hint of consternation that had the potions master resisting a snicker as he looked down at Potter. The boy's brow was crinkled slightly in accusation. "That I did," he said simply with a shrug.

"You could have told me."

"And ruin the surprise?" He smirked. "Be grateful. I could have spelled pigtails on you."

"You wouldn't," Harry gasped, reaching up to clutch at his hair.

"Wouldn't do what?" This was said from the headmaster who was leaning against the kitchen door, smiling at them. "I was just about to collect you two."

Severus rolled his eyes at Harry, garnering a small laugh from the boy. "He said he could have put a pigtail on me this morning," he revealed as he passed the headmaster and headed for the sink to wash his hands.

"If he had done that," Albus declared with mirth, "I would have spelled him into a dress for the day."

"Try it, old man," the younger wizard growled as he bypassed him.

That sent the pair into a banter that had Harry chuckling as he sat himself at the table, prepared to wait until they finished. This was how it had been when he had first arrived here, he thought fondly as he watched them. There was harmony between the three of them, and he was at peace, with both himself and his guardians. Later on, he would seat himself beside the headmaster with one of his new books and the next day, he and the potions master would go through the purchases. But for now, he was content to sit here and observe the growing 'feud' between the two, all the while munching on a chocolate biscuit.


	21. Chapter 21

Fudge was an idiot.

Minerva was gone.

He was dangerously close to missing Harry's birthday dinner.

Fudge was an idiot.

These thoughts reverberated constantly in Albus' mind as he stared despondently at the literal stacks of parchments now littering his usually pristine office. Were the Fates against him? Everything had gone downhill in less than twenty-four hours. Were he a lesser man, Albus would have dissolved into tears or hysteria (or a combination of both), several hours ago. As it was, he was seriously contemplating abandoning all his positions, if only not to have this amount of paperwork and legislation to wade through.

Things rarely went according to plan. He knew and had accepted that fact a long time ago. However, was it that hard to ask for a perfect day for his ward? Apparently, it seemed so. Already, on this most important day in his Harry's life, he had yet to see him. It had been around five in the morning when Fawkes persistent trilling had driven him from his sleep. Bleary eyed, he had looked inquiringly at his familiar, who clearly conveyed to him that his presence was necessary at Hogwarts, and no, it definitely could not wait a few more hours.

Drowsily he had transfigured his clothing, and, sparing a moment to write a note to Severus, he had flooed out. What awaited him had Albus, even now, regretting ever leaving the comfort of his home. Fudge, with all his lunacy, had decided on a string of alterations to current and pending legislation. Undoubtedly, it was an attempt to regain popularity with the society, for now, more than ever, his political mileage was waning. Catering only to the elites of the population tended to do that. However, it was only now, with elections looming in the not-too-distant future, that the Minister found it prudent to endear himself to the wider populace once again. It only took Albus a brief glance at the first proposal though, to realise (not for the first time) that the man had not a clue as to what he was doing.

And unfortunately for him, as part of his Wizengamot duties, analysing such proposals fell largely onto him – all one hundred and two of them.

Fudge was an idiot.

And then, if that was not bad enough, around nine o'clock a frantic Minerva had hurried into his office. Her accent was thicker than he could ever remember, and so it took him long moments to decipher her hurried words. Her daughter had met with an accident, and she was needed at home immediately. Albus had ushered her off with well-wishes post haste. Family came before everything else, a lesson he wished he had learnt a good few decades before.

It was only after the floo network had closed once again that he really understood the implications of what had just occurred. Minerva was gone, leaving behind all of her duties – duties that now belonged to him. Hoping against all hope, he had summoned her files and paperwork, only to groan in despair. The only things struck off her itinerary were the sending out of term reports, book lists and prefect selections. The welter of work remained. It was no fault of hers. July truly was the slowest month, work wise, for them both and so they often took days off in between.

Nevertheless, now he not only had to complete his headmaster duties, but her duties as well. Not to mention there were Fudge's proposals to veto and...

Something was missing.

Something crucial.

However, he had not recalled exactly what that missing thing was, nor had he for the next several hours. It was not until Fawkes left and reappeared a minute later with a note that he remembered. And with it, his heart fell considerably. Harry's birthday. In the midst of all this chaos, he had forgotten about his ward, something ironic given that he had been one-step away from being hexed by Severus for the past day or so given his constant rambling about his plans for the event. He had dropped his head into his hand for a long moment, sighing in despair.

There was no way he could leave here now. He had barely made a dent in sorting through Minerva's things and prioritising them. Fudge's documents he had yet to touch. His movements had been considerably slower as the day continued to pass. It was with grim determination that he worked, penning out letters. There were the ones to his fellow Wizengamot members, warning them that within a week there would have to be an increase in the number of meetings to discuss the amendments Fudge wanted made.

There were governors who needed informing that he could not possibly meet with them for the remainder of the week, and that they, therefore, could go ahead and draft new policies. They were then to be owled to him for immediate implementation or dismissal. There would be no time this time around for the usual back and forth jostling until a reasonable compromise was reached. There simply would be no time for that.

For all that he worked, Albus was adamant of one thing. He would not miss Harry's birthday dinner (already a downgrade from the evening of activities he had originally planned). He sincerely hoped that Harry would not be too disappointed. Well, he doubted that the boy would be any more disappointed than he was currently. Already, he had broken his own rules. He had missed breakfast with his lads, something that he had sworn never to do. But, more importantly was the trip he had been planning to his coastal residence.

Given his current schedule, he doubted that he could afford the week off he had been planning to move his household there for. It was a major blow. He had been looking forward to seeing his ward and his first experience with the sea. He even had plans of coaxing Severus into joining them on the sand. Maybe the younger wizard would have taught Harry how to swim. He could see none of that materialising now however, and it left him disheartened.

A soft trill sounded from the corner, and turning, he found Fawkes looking at him with some annoyance.

"You think I am overreacting," Albus guessed correctly. "I suppose I am. Harry is not even aware of the trip, nor have I seen any sign of him even being conscious of his birthday in our last occlumency lesson. Did I tell you that those are going a lot better? I believe that he will master it by the end of the year. That is beside the point. Harry will not care that I am absent for most of his birthday. But I do Fawkes. You know why. I won't neglect someone else, even with this. Oh Merlin, why am I even here still?"

The last was said with annoyance, as the headmaster abruptly dropped his quill, not caring that he had just stained a letter he had just spent the past fifteen minutes drafting. Fawkes gave what amounted to a chuckle as he watched his master start packing away the most important of his belongings. He considered himself quite an expert in manipulation, he thought smugly as he watched him prepare to leave. Albus was working himself up unnecessarily. His thoughts for the last hour or so had laid solely on the Cottage House, and so, after growing weary of hearing the same thoughts drifting unconsciously to him, he had 'intervened' – well, facilitated his owner in his ramblings, knowing that he would reach a conclusion.

He had reached the expected one, and, as the wizard stepped into the floo with nary a goodbye, Fawkes bent his head under a wing. Perhaps now he could have a few uninterrupted hours of rest.

*

This was the worst summer of Hermione Jean Granger's life. Well, perhaps not the worst. After all, she had spent three wonderful weeks in France with her parents. More than that, this time around she had actually entered the magical part of the country, and had experienced a different variety of wizarding life. It was an amazing place, and she had collected various little items that would undoubtedly prove themselves valuable in one way or another.

Yet, for all her joy at exploring France, she had fallen into melancholy within a few days of her return to Britain. Her parents were not particularly pleased with her at the moment, not that she could blame them. She wasn't particularly proud of herself currently either. It had started back at the start of the holidays, if she was completely honest. She had bid a fond farewell to her friends at the train station, jovially asking them to write to her as she was still trying to convince her parents that allowing her an owl would not constitute animal cruelty. (It still perturbed her mother anytime an owl arrived with mail. It just was not right, she insisted.) At the time, she had dismissed the slanting looks they shot each other. They were most likely more preoccupied with finding their own families.

However, as the days had gone by, she had gotten more and more concerned when no letters arrived. She had mentioned that she would be leaving for France on the 7th of July. At the very least, she had expected a brief note from Lavender, or even Parvati, wishing her a good trip. After all, when Parvati left the school for a few days in February for personal reasons, Lavender had owled her everyday, if only to say hi. Yet, even on the advent of her trip, there had been no such letter. Her mother had reassured her. Her friends had their own families, and the summer holidays were quite different from the three week Christmas and two week Easter breaks. They were most likely busy with their own families. They would owl her with time.

The weeks passed, and still, no letters came. A week ago – their last day in France actually, she had finally owled them. Her father had overruled her mother's concern, especially for the owl that would have to make such a long trip. Written on four cards in her neat script was an invitation to her home for the last week of August. Her birthday was the 19th of September yes, but for the first time ever, she actually had friends to celebrate with, and she wanted to take the opportunity wholeheartedly. It took only a few hours for the heartbreak to set in.

The first reply came from Ron, the loud, slightly obnoxious redhead who always bugged her to allow him to copy from her. More often than not, she allowed him to have her drafts before completely restructuring her work to remove any hints of cheating. He was, after all, among the more popular male students in their house, and it was good to remain in his good graces. He was not coming. His excuse...none. All he had written (on the back side of her note) was that he had other things to do.

Lavender and Parvati's responses had been the same, with only slight differences in wording. Both claimed that they had alternate plans, something she found particularly strange given that she had heard them numerous times in the dormitory sighing over the lack of summer holiday plans. However, while suspicious now, she had still accepted their explanations, slightly disappointed, but understanding nonetheless. So it would not be a large party after all. Perhaps she could just have a small dinner with Neville.

However, it was not to be.

Out of all of her friends, he, she truly believed, had a legitimate excuse. He simply would not be in the country. Indeed, she remembered him saying occasionally that his Gran was planning a trip abroad. In true Neville fashion, he had not remembered the date. His note had come from Belgium, delivered by an aristocratic owl who had flown off without a backward glance. However, what cemented her despondency was the fact that Neville had written more than an apology. His letter to her was almost a parchment length long, and by the time she had finished deciphering his untidy scrawl, she had been near tears, something her mother had immediately noticed. Without a word, she had handed over the parchment while she struggled to compose herself.

They had just been using her and it was only now that Neville had felt brave enough to tell her. Even now, the thought was enough to bring forth a deep feeling of melancholy from within as she recalled what the chubby Gryffindor boy had written to her.

Hermione,

I really would like to come to your party, but I can't. Remember Gran's trip that I mentioned? Well, it's now actually. I'm heading to Belgium in a few hours. Do they speak English there? I wonder, but I'm sure you know. I promise that I'll bring you something. I really am sorry I won't be there. Trust me, I love Gran, but she is scary sometimes. I'd rather spend the day with you. You're a cool person; I don't know why the others don't see that.

Merlin, I knew I shouldn't have borrowed parchment from Gran. It's a penmanship sheet and I can't remove anything and Gran won't give me another. Although, maybe that's a good thing. I've been meaning to tell you something for a while, Hermone, but I really didn't know how to say it. I guess I have no choice now save not sending you this letter. Then again, I really think you need to know.

They don't really like you, Hermione. Ron, Lavender and Parvati I mean. They don't even like me (that's not a surprise, I know. They always call me fatty or something else). That's not the point though. They're just using you because you're smart. I mean, come on, has Ron even tried to do any assignment on his own recently? And the girls, they hardly ever talk to you unless they need something and they always laugh at you when you're gone. I'm sorry to be the one to say it, Hermione, and I hope you believe me. I should have said something before, but I really like talking to you and I figured that you'd choose them over me. They are a lot more interesting.

Anyway, Gran's getting anxious. I hope you have a good party with your friends. You'll have to explain it to me. Is a muggle party the same as a wizard one? Bye.

Neville.

There was extreme irony in that last point Neville raised. A good party with friends; she doubted given the rest of the letter that he meant the Hogwarts ones. She didn't have friends in the muggle world, she never did. Hermione Granger was the freaky genius girl of her primary school. No one talked to her much, because they all thought that she was a teacher's pet or was showing off. She was neither. She loved learning, and helping people to learn. Whenever she helped someone with math or science, she was not disparaging them. What she was doing was just trying to transplant her love of learning on to them. Her teachers had appreciated such a quick witted, enthusiastic student, and so she had quickly gained status among them. However, in the process of doing so, she had also alienated herself from the students around her.

Hogwarts had given her an escape from that. Before the arrival of her letter, she had been on track to move on to a private secondary school. Her parents had believed that she would face less bullying there than at a public school. More than that though was the fact that there were fewer restrictions there. If Hermione proved capable, she could skip years (something she had feverently wanted to do at the primary level). To her knowledge, none of the other students of her primary school had applied to the same institute as hers, so she had hoped for a new beginning. However, she still had had a twinge of doubt that her schooling there would remain the same.

And then it had happened. One morning, just after breakfast, there had been a knock on her front door, and she had opened it to greet an oddly dress aged woman. She had allowed her into the house and had never looked back since. Everything made sense from that moment onwards. All those little incidents that just had no explanation suddenly made sense. Loaned out library books that suddenly appeared on the return cart when she pleaded with the librarian to check, a notebook that never ran out of pages no matter how many times she approached the end of it...those were but a few cases that had bothered her and her parents over the years. However, now they had their answers.

Getting her parents' approval was surprisingly easy, especially when the Professor mentioned that both her parents had ancestors who were magical. Their names were recorded in the school's registry. Jeannette Percy had attended Hogwarts back in the seventeenth century, marrying a muggle. Their union produced a squib. About fifty years later, there had been Michel Granger, who eventually produced a squib as well. Fast forward a few years to when both lines joined, and the individual genes fortified themselves, producing a magical child. Although disappointed that their child would not continue in their profession, they had given her their blessings, and thus she had embarked on her journey into the wizarding world, and had immediately been integrated, and unfortunately, overwhelmed, by it.

The train ride had been an interesting experience to say the least. A blonde aristocratic boy had insulted her, male twins had teased her for studying, and then a frantic boy had begged for her help finding a toad. Then she had met him, the person now responsible for the kernels of guilt she felt alongside her melancholy. He was also the primary reason her parents were not pleased with her.

She could remember their first meeting clearly. Asking about the frog in about ten carriages was not the most pleasant task, especially in a uniform she was still adjusting to. As such, she was admittedly short on patience, and consequently manners by the time she had reached the eleventh. Not bothering to knock she had opened it, already speaking before the door was fully opened. Then she had stopped mid-sentence as her eyes met those of a messy haired boy through his ridiculously oversized glasses. At once, she knew he was just like her. He just had that air about him. He was misunderstood; neglected by those around him. In the moments it took for them to break their gaze Hermione felt that she had seen right through him, and he, her. A bond was formed immediately there and then, one that she later ignored.

For she had been right. Harry Potter was essentially the male equivalent of herself. By the time the prefects were ushering them to bed, Harry had already stepped in to her primary school position. For all that he was famous, the murmurings had already started, speculation rife. And, as she got herself ready for bed, making small talk with the other girls, she knew she had a decision to make. She could either pursue that feeling of kinship that had passed between them on the train, or she could ignore it, and completely depart from her previous life. Or she could acknowledge it, and in doing so risk a return to her outcast status.

She had not completely decided that night, however the next day, after watching the spectacle that was made in the Potions classroom, it seemed that the decision was taken from her hands. As she left the classroom, Lavender had turned to her and remarked "Isn't Potter the weirdest?" and she knew the time had come. She could either dismiss the girl's words and argue in favour of him, or she could agree, and become a part of the quickly forming group among the first year students. It only took her a second to reflect on her past before her decision was made. "Isn't he?" she had replied, and from that moment her path was set.

Hermione regretted her decision at times. She would have been callous not to, especially when he shot her hesitant looks occasionally. And so, she still sat with him on occasion, dismissing it to her friends even as she passed over her notes or homework to them. They seemingly put it down to a little quirk of hers, it was only now that she realised that they probably had no issue with the two oddballs sitting together. What Neville had told her cast the entire school year into a new light for her. Those remarks from Ron were not as playful as she had thought, there really were barbs laced in his words. Those eye rolls from her fellow witches when they thought her to be focussing elsewhere suddenly had greater meaning. To them she was exactly on par with Harry, except for one fact – she was useful to them.

If she had hoped telling her parents this would have garnered her sympathy, she was wrong. Her father had said little. He was a man of few words; however, it had only taken her one look into the eyes so similar to hers for her to see his feelings on the matter. Her mother had been more vocal and had even grounded her because of it. She understood though. Her behaviour, in hindsight was deplorable. She had stepped back from her true self. The real Hermione would have never gone along with the crowd, nor would she have allowed others to sponge off her. This Hermione though had been anxious to have a new beginning, so anxious that she had sacrificed her standards in the process, not even realising it.

What good was it that she had topped her year, when her growth had been purely academic? As a person her standards had dropped considerably. She was determined to fix that though and would start from this very moment. She would completely reassess herself, and those she trusted in her life. Neville she could definitely trust. Indeed, she was half-way through writing a letter of thanks to him. It did not matter that she would not be able to give it to him for a few days yet. She was grounded for the remainder of the week. After that, she could hopefully persuade her father to take her into London to post it. She would have done the same for Harry, except she truly had no idea where he was.

Besides, what she had to say to him needed to be stated in person. There was just no way to put in writing what she needed to tell him. She just hoped that she would afford him the opportunity to do so, and perhaps they could even start over. She would not deny (if he allowed it) his existence in public. Indeed, she was considering doing that to the other Gryffindor first years save Neville. She would try to help him with his practical work and not just for him to gain house points. However, more than that, she hoped that they could be friends, true friends.

She owed him that much, and herself a lot more.

*

Staring down at his third ruined potion, Severus knew something had to be done immediately. The old coot was disturbing his brewing, and that was unacceptable. Growling softly, he waved the mess away with his wand. He doubted that scrubbing the cauldron everyday for a month would remove that substance. On the other hand, perhaps he should have saved it until school reopened for his first batch of detentions. Oh well, he would remember next time.

Dismissing the matter entirely for now, he left in search of Potter. He found him exactly where he had left him, playing listlessly in the living room. Damn Albus, he thought, could he not see the effect he was having on Potter? It was not that the boy was missing his guardian as much as he was concerned about him. After all, the dark circles under his eyes were deeper than Severus could ever remember seeing them. More than that was the fact that the last time he had seen the headmaster, his hands trembled visibly, a sure sign of exhaustion. He had inquired of Fawkes the last time Albus had slept, for he certainly had not entered his bedroom here recently. He half expected the jumbled reply the phoenix gave him. The magical creature could not recall.

The only reason, he knew, that the man had yet to collapse was the potions he was taking from his stores. Only this morning, Severus had found his latest batch of Pepper Up potions gone. His alarm would have sounded had Potter been the one to remove it. More than that, Severus suspected that Albus had issued himself a time turner. On his way to his office the previous morning, he distinctly heard the man mumbling to himself. Yet, when he went downstairs, the elder wizard was surrounded by documents in the sitting room. He had reserved comment then. However now, he would act.

"Potter?"

The boy jumped slightly at his voice, before turning his eyes on him. Concern was written all over his face. "Yes, sir?"

"I want you to pack enough clothes for a week into your school trunk. Include your new textbooks as well as any games or novels you desire."

The twelve year old stood slowly, his brows crinkling. "I'm going somewhere, sir?" he inquired.

"We," Severus corrected, "are going to Hogwarts. Now heed me. I will join you in half an hour to shrink your trunk."

Harry nodded and walked forward at the man's beckon. He stopped an inch or so away from him. Severus was pleased that the young wizard did not flinch when he raised his chin to meet his gaze. "You're worried about Albus," the potions master said softly.

"He's so tired."

"We are going to Hogwarts so that I can rectify the situation, Potter," Severus explained.

A smile graced the boy's face, and some of his worry visibly receded. "Can I help?" he offered.

Severus chuckled softly, and moving his hand, tousled his hair roughly. A crooked smile pulled at his lips when Potter looked owlishly up at him. "I suppose we can find you a suitable task. Now, off you go."

"Yes, sir."

The potions master leaned against the doorway, looking up the stairs long after Harry had gone up them. He ran a hand through his hair, snagging and breaking the tie he had been using to hold it off his face. As the hair floated down in a black cloud around his face, he sighed. The things he did for Albus, he mused, finally moving away and heading up the staircase himself. His brewing schedule was going to fall so far behind. He could already envision himself up all night during the last few days of August to get the Infirmary fully restocked.

Pausing briefly before Potter's door, he took out his wand and muttered a spell, temporarily rendering the door translucent. The boy did not notice, and after taking a moment to confirm that his orders were being heeded, he moved on, deciding to tackle the old man's bedroom first. He hesitated for a moment before entering. He could not remember the last occasion he had come into this part of the house. Perhaps it was that time a few years previously when the headmaster had contracted a severe case of Wizard's Flu.

He took a minute to familiarise himself with the bedroom. It was large, with no defined colour scheme. A large four-poster bed graced the centre of the room. Severus bypassed it as he went to the large double oak closet. Before he reached it though, a glimmer of silver caught his attention. Turning slightly, he saw that it was the edge of a picture frame, gleaming in the sunlight that caught his attention. He hesitated briefly before going to it. There were three frames on the man's bedside table.

The first was a simple black framed one that he quickly bypassed. It was a picture of himself beside the man. A half-smile framed his face while Albus looked towards him with a wide smile. If one stared at the picture for a few seconds longer, Fawkes would appear in it, startling them both. His image would glare at the bird while the headmaster threw his head back in laughter. It had been taken before Albus had returned his pensieved memories to him, and it was an image he preferred not to dwell on. The second frame he paused longer on before picking it up.

When had this been taken? It was a picture of himself and Potter in the living room. He was seated on the armchair, his hands gesturing as he explained something. Potter was cross-legged on the rug looking up at him with an engrossed expression, and, as he watched, he bent forward to poke the boy's nose, causing Potter to crinkle it and laugh. Shaking his head lightly, Severus put the picture aside before turning his attention to the frame that had originally captured his notice.

His face was unreadable as he perused the image. He did not touch this one; instead, his hand ghosted over it with an oddly reverent gesture. Severus passed a hand through his hair as he turned away, unwilling to look at the three persons any longer. It felt wrong to be looking at the image, especially with the knowledge of how that image affected the man even now. It was not lost to him that the frame was situated between the other two, seeming to link them together. It did actually, he noted, as he turned his back, returning to his original task.

He was only five minutes past his stipulated time when he knocked at Potter's door before entering. His and the old man's belongings were already carefully stored in his pockets. He hoped that they would not have to remain in the castle for more than a week. However, another trip to Cottage House could be arranged if it was necessary.

"Ready?" he asked shortly.

"Yes, sir."

"I trust your judgement then," Severus declared as he shrunk the item before pocketing it.

He noted with mild surprise but approval at the boy's change of clothing as well. He reminded himself as he led the boy down the stairs, that children largely learnt social skills from observations. Sometime in the past few weeks, Harry had noticed that robes were mandatory outside of the home. Thus, without having to be told, he had already changed his clothes and donned a robe. He had also neatened (or attempted to) his hair. He made a note to talk to one of the female staff members present. Perhaps there was a spell to make the boy's hair more manageable? Would there even be other staff members present? He truly could not recall.

"Are you certain you have everything you need?" Severus asked, even as he opened the jar of Floo Powder.

"I think so, sir."

"Very well," he nodded. "Now stay close to me. I don't want to lose you in the floo network."

"Okay," Harry agreed, closing the distance between them.

Clasping a hand on his shoulder firmly, Severus threw in a handful of floo powder before enunciating clearly, "Potions Office, Hogwarts."

They stepped into the fireplace, and were whisked away, leaving Cottage House empty.


	22. Chapter 22

The silence surrounding him had been absent over the past two weeks. And so, he was relishing in it. The only sounds that greeted Severus' ears were the ones he made as he went about dissecting frogs. Not even the macabre task of removing and pickling intestines could disturb the serenity he was now experiencing. This was his laboratory, a solace for him and he immersed himself in the predictability it offered. His life had been hectic these past few days, and honestly, he had no idea how Albus thought he could have managed such a workload without assistance. Nevertheless, two weeks of him wrangling with Governors, interviewing persons for the Defence post and ensuring that all the incoming muggle borns, and raised, were ushered safely to Diagon were over... and Merlin alone knew, he hoped never to have to go through that stress again.

"Never me again," he muttered to himself as he rinsed his hands off after sealing the last jar.

A small, content smile flittered across his face as he leaned against the sink, surveying the room. An administrative job was definitely not for him. He had always known it, and assisting Albus had just reinforced the notion. This was where he belonged. It had always been his life's ambition. Well, not being a potions professor specifically, he corrected as he set aside the cloth and headed for the cupboards. He had wanted to be a potions master yes, but had planned to spend his days in his own Apothecary. That dream had been subverted by his foray into the Dark Arts, he thought sadly. Severus shook his head roughly, refusing to dwell on his past any longer. No, he did not have his potions shop, but at least he was not rotting in Azkaban. Besides, his work was still assisting people, if only the snot-nosed brats that ran about the castle.

He had to admit that Albus had made the right decision in keeping them at the castle. With just over a week left before the term recommenced, it was rather pointless to return to Cottage House for that short period. And so, the old man had settled for sending for the remainder of their belongings, and they made themselves comfortable within the mostly empty castle. However, Severus was unable to relax in the remaining period as he knew what the old man planned to do. He was terribly behind on his brewing schedule. It would be several sleepless nights for him if he hoped to finish before the start of the term. Luckily, it would not be the first time he had to manage such a crammed itinerary. More than that, he could utilise both his personal laboratory and the classroom. With that much room, he could easily brew large batches of different potions at once.

Managing all of them simultaneously however...that would be the ultimate test for his skills.

Deftly, Severus started shredding the first of many bat wings. The task was repetitive enough that he did not have to pay particular attention to it. Thus, he allowed his mind to wander while he worked. As far as he knew, there were three other members of staff currently within the castle. Technically, they were not required to return until the 28th. However, some arrived as early as the 15th. That was especially true for those who had no family to speak of. Filius had arrived two days previously, and only this morning Pomona had shown up, sporting a healthy tan. And there was Sybil. Although Severus was not quite certain that the witch had ever left. Did she even have a home to go to?

Finishing with the last bat wing, he pushed the pile aside. Switching knifes, he started a rough cut on some roots. His mind drifted over to Potter, and surprisingly, he found himself missing the quiet presence at his side. He was with his guardian currently, perhaps engaging him in a chess match. The man had promised to teach him the game sometime. It was not as if the pre-teen had not offered to assist him. He had asked as soon as Severus had announced where he was going. And, realistically speaking, the boy could have assisted him, if only in this preparatory work. He had improved significantly under his tutelage, and would have been more than capable of handling some menial tasks. However, today was the first day that Albus had absolutely nothing planned on his schedule and the twelve year old deserved some alone time with the man. Thus, he did without his presence for now. Perhaps tomorrow he would allow him to if he was still interested.

Severus smirked at the last thought. Of course, Potter would want to assist him. He would not be the boy he had come to know if he did not. At least once an hour the pre-teen would offer his assistance, a small glint of enthusiasm in his eyes. He truly enjoyed helping others, and aware of that, he and Albus within reason allowed him to assist them in whatever they were doing. His efforts over the past few weeks had been endearing in their own way. Truly, there was little that Potter could have done to help them. However, that had not stopped the twelve year old. He had taken to bringing them tea trays and snacks every few hours, and ensured that the office remained organised and clutter free. All this was done with his smile firmly in place.

"Silly elf," he murmured.

His amusement though, quickly faded as he belatedly realised that the start of a new term meant a return to the student body. How would the twelve year old react to their presence? Potter had been under constant scrutiny the past year, and, if Albus was to be believed, he had handled it terribly. The new year could derail all the progress they had made with the boy. Potter had come so far in under two months. He was a far cry from the painfully shy boy who had first come to them. Well, he corrected, the boy was still shy. However, it was a more natural shyness, the kind that usually disappeared with age. There was less stifled laughter from the messy-haired boy; instead, he indulged himself in throaty chuckles. His blushes were less frequent, although they remained as vivid as ever. However, the most important change in Severus' opinion was the absence of his stutter in recent days.

Well, he allowed, it had made one appearance during Minerva's floo call, and it was for that reason that the man was concerned. The twelve year old's face had become drawn the second his head of house's face had appeared in the fireplace. His few words to her were barely discernable and the relief on his face when she directed her attention away from him was palpable. Potter was only comfortable around them; that moment had made that fact abundantly clear. In a way it was endearing, he supposed. He could not help but feel a small amount of pride that the boy no longer held any real fear of them. However, it was also alarming and did not bode well for the new school year.

The scrutiny around him would not disappear. In fact, Severus knew that it would increase dramatically once the knowledge of Harry's wandless ability surfaced. How would he handle it, Severus pondered. His relations with Potter had been limited in the past academic year. Thus, he could only draw upon what Albus had rambled to him over one tea session or another. What he recalled did not please him in the least. The boy had all but hid himself away in Albus' rooms, and the old man had allowed it. That would not do. He could not simply hide from his problems or he would never develop into a worthwhile adult. Potter had to learn to face and overcome the troubles life threw his way. And, there would be many, so he would have to equip himself with the necessary tools to do so from now.

But, what would be the best way to impart such notions onto Potter? It was not as if there were only a few persons for him to deal with. The boy had the entire student body to face. Hell, even he had struggled to deal with four adversaries while he had been a student. What did that leave for Potter? The situation was dismal, and, the potions master found himself slightly more sympathetic to Albus' action. He had originally thought that the man had allowed Potter to use him as a buffer against reality. Now he had the sudden urge to add another bedroom to his quarters to give him a second hiding place. The pre-teen had neither the tenacity nor personality to handle the pressure indirectly placed upon him. Nor did he have anyone from the student body to offer him solidarity.

Severus moved on to a next table, starting work on another batch of ingredients. They could not let him run away, Severus reminded himself. If they let him hide now, what else would he run away from? There were wizards who never set a foot off their properties. It was not a life he wanted for the boy. Rules, he decided. He had to give Potter more rules.

There were ways of circumventing the talk around him. Potter could feign nonchalance; gossipers tended to fall silent if the subject of their talks appeared indifferent to their words. He would have to coach him into adopting a more Slytherin persona as well. His snakes were renowned for their impassive public faces, and Potter would benefit from that. If he pretended that their words had no impact on him, they would stop talking. Those were both acceptable avenues to dealing with the situation. There were also several 'unacceptable' avenues to dealing with the situation. Nevertheless, Severus knew that Albus would not approve of him teaching them to Potter. Already he could envision the old man lecturing that hexes were not the solutions to one's problems.

"They certainly will not shred themselves, my boy."

The unexpected voice tore a startled sound from the potions master throat. The only reason he had not tossed the knife in his hand instinctively was the fact that he recognised the voice. It was a left over reflex from the war; he tended to act first and ask questions later. Time had not dulled it unfortunately. "What are you doing here?" he asked tersely.

The headmaster shrugged lightly, turning away to fetch a spare robe. "I thought that I'd help you. It is my fault after all that you're stuck down here."

Severus stared at him in confusion.

Albus wrongly interpreted his expression and frowned slightly. "I may not be a potions master Severus, but I do have an O on my N.E.W.T.S."

"From what century?" the potions master rebutted dryly, shaking his head to centre himself. "Why aren't you with Potter?"

To say that he was surprised by the man's willingness to help would be an understatement. He was not at all fooled by what Albus was saying. The headmaster disliked potions brewing. He had said as much years ago when he asked Severus exactly what was so appealing about spending hours bent over hot cauldrons. Yet, he was here, rolling up his sleeves and moving to a pile of flobberworms. The slight cringe he made drew a small smile from him, and Severus turned away to hide a snicker when the headmaster gingerly picked one up before dropping it when he saw that the insect was still alive. That snicker turned into a silent guffaw when the old man moved away from the table entirely, heading instead for the plant ingredients.

"Where is Potter?" he asked again when he was certain no mirth was left in his tone.

"He's exploring the castle," Albus explained. "That will keep him occupied until at least lunch time."

"Hmm."

"Severus?" the man asked a second later. "Am I really looking at a face?"

Confused, Severus looked over and promptly guffawed, unable to contain it. The headmaster's gaze was firmly set toward a jar of pickled mandrake root. The expression on his face was the same one the first years wore whenever they sighted the glass. It was the reason he kept it there in the first place. It frightened the little monsters into submission – especially when he mentioned oh so casually that de-aging potions were both opaque, tasteless and could be added to anything – even their morning pumpkin juice. It was a good way to start the year and inspire respect. In hindsight, he should have stuck to his regular routine rather than have picked on Potter. His actions had instilled in the students that he was to be respected and somewhat feared, but at the boy's expense. Not that he had cared then, but still...

"It's mandrake root," he answered. "And you should know that, Mr. I-have-an-O-in-my-N.E.W.T.S."

Albus smiled sheepishly at him. "Well maybe it wasn't an O."

"Was it even a pass?"

"I'm not answering that."

Severus huffed slightly, sending a glare the man's way. However, he found it hard to work up any real annoyance given the slightly woe begotten expression on his face. Not that it was a genuine one, but still. The old coot just wanted to help, and frankly, he could use the assistance.

"Blow something up and I'm kicking you out," he declared, turning away.

"Will do!" Albus said cheerfully, turning his back to the shelves.

The potions master watched him for a moment longer, ensuring that he was dicing the stems small enough before returning to his own pile. They worked peacefully after that until all the work was complete.

*

"Everything packed?" Albus asked, peering around the bedroom door.

Albus was rather pleasantly surprised to find his eldest there as well. The potions master was seated on the edge of the twelve year old's bed, watching him rummage through his trunk. Albus had left the wizard double-checking his potion stores. Why he bothered was a mystery to him. They had finished his list; actually, Severus had made extra. Undoubtedly, the extra vials were meant to replace the ones he had assumed Albus would make incorrectly. A small smile crinkled at the old man's lips at the thought. He honestly hoped that Severus never discovered that he indeed had an O in potion making. The look on incredulity on the man's face when he had offered to help had been too tempting for him to resist teasing him a bit.

"Go away, Albus," Severus bid. "Potter and I are having a conversation. A private one."

"That I may not be privy too?" the man inquired, arching a brow.

"Private insinuates that."

"Planning anarchy?" he said teasingly.

"What does anarchy mean?" Harry interjected, looking up from his trunk.

"It means," Severus declared, "that you will be joining me on Wednesday afternoons for Vocabulary lessons."

Harry blinked at the sudden decree before nodding in acceptance. He bit his lip as he ducked his head back into the trunk to hide a smile. It was so easy at times to distract them he thought, straightening a shirt. More than that, he now had a genuine reason to see the potions master outside of class. He had had his doubts whether the wizard would actually want to interact with him come the new school year. In his opinion, they had formed a bond over the holidays, one that he wanted to keep. The man was far from the scary potions master Harry had endured the past academic year. Now, Professor Snape was an extremely stern yet kind person, one that he was glad to have in his life. With the man's pronouncement, he had proof that the potions master cared enough for him to take away from his busy schedule to teach him.

"Severus," Albus sighed, seating himself, "Harry's vocabulary is fine for his age."

"I don't mind, sir," Harry said, creating another distraction. "If Professor Snape finds it necessary, I will do it."

"As if you have a choice," Severus sneered. "And, I haven't spent the summer teaching you for you to hand me mediocre potions. Brew one that falls beneath my requirement and you will remake it in detention."

"Yes, sir," he promised. Harry lowered the lid of his trunk. "I have everything I need, sir."

"Are you sure?" the headmaster inquired. "Quills, inkwells..."

"Socks and undies?" Severus finished sarcastically. "Potter's checked twice and I've checked once. He had everything. So will you relax?"

"I've never sent someone off to school before," the old wizard defended. "I want it to be perfect."

Harry propped his elbows on his trunk, waiting for the witty retort from the potions master. However, none came. Looking at the dark haired wizard curiously, Harry was puzzled by the expression on the man's face. That look meant that he was analysing something carefully. That expression had been directed toward him numerous times over the holidays, at least once a day actually. Nevertheless, what was the wizard trying to find in the headmaster's words? Whatever it was, the potions master seemed to find it because he looked away.

"Fine," he sighed. "Smother the boy if it pleases you."

"Thank you," the headmaster said simply.

The man turned his way once again, a smile on his face. The twinkle in his eyes was not as strong as usual, Harry noted. However, the man's voice was as warm as ever when he spoke to him.

"I've planned a special lunch for us," he revealed. "It has all of yours and Severus' favourites. I thought we'd share it together before we go our separate ways. You are available Severus?"

There was a slight hint of pleading in the man's tone and Harry silently hoped the potions master would say yes.

"I have to do a final check on the seventh year dormitory," the man began.

A refusal was coming Harry knew, and so he threw a beseeching look the man's way.

The potions master held his gaze a moment before discreetly rolling his eyes. "The train doesn't arrive until five though," he acknowledged, "and the demons will not be here until six. I suppose I can spare an hour."

"Splendid!" Albus stated.

Sometimes Harry wondered at the men's relationship. There were always undertones to their conversations that he could never understand. Sometimes the tension between them was almost palpable. Other times though, they seemed perfectly content in each other's presence. This was one of those odd moments. The headmaster had seemed almost hesitant when he mentioned the planned lunch, as though expecting a vicious outburst from the younger wizard. His relief and excitement was slightly exuberant for a lunch.

And in a way, Harry could sympathise with his actions because the potions master did tend to snap at the headmaster for the simplest things. Sometimes Harry wondered if the men had had an unresolved argument between them. He remembered his aunt and uncle acting that way once. Uncle Vernon had done something (he didn't know what) but thought he wasn't wrong. The atmosphere between them had been tense for several days and any conversation had an edge that indicated that it could quickly turn into a verbal spar. That behaviour manifested itself in the Headmaster and the potions master on occasion.

"I'll go have the lunch sent up," the man continued presently, rising. "Harry, you're certain you don't want to ride the train?"

"No, sir," Harry assured him. "I don't want to go."

It didn't make sense to take him all the way to King's Cross just for him to come right back. Besides, there was nobody who would want to converse with him for the trip. He was better off staying here than suffer through the awkward situation.

"That's fine," the man nodded before leaving.

There was a brief silence before the potions master beckoned him forward. "You remember what we were speaking off?"

"Yes, sir. I'm not to let anyone derail my progress," he recited.

"And you understand what that means?" Severus pressed, laying his hands on the boy's shoulders.

Harry hesitated only slightly before nodding. "It's hard though," he admitted softly.

"Nothing worthwhile comes easily," he said. "Besides, it is no harder than meeting people's gazes and straightening your shoulders. You've done a wonderful job with that so far. I will never ask anything unreasonable of you, Potter. I don't expect you to follow my guidelines to the letter, just keep them in mind. You may find your year less tedious that way."

"I'll try, sir."

Severus nodded, flexing his fingers lightly. "That's all I ask."

"Lunch is here," Albus called, his voice drifting in from the outer room.

"Coming, sir!" Harry called.

"Just remember what I've told you, Potter," Severus stated. "You'll be fine."

As he spoke, his hand brushed lightly over Harry's head. "You still need that haircut," he muttered. "I'll deal with it after lunch."

"Haircuts don't work on me," Harry pointed out, following him out the room. "Aunt Petunia tried and it grew back over night."

"She wasn't pleased I suppose?" he asked dryly.

"No," Harry agreed. "I got punished."

"Well I'm not your aunt," he reassured him.

"I know," the pre-teen said. "You're much nicer."

Harry ran ahead of the man to the table and seated himself.

Severus followed at a more sedate pace, shaking his head ruefully at the boy's summation. There were few people in the world who would label him as a nice person. Nevertheless, he was quite pleased that Potter was one of them.

*

Harry wrapped his arms around himself as he stared around his bedroom, feeling strangely cold. In a few minutes, this room, the entire area to be more specific, would no longer be home. The realisation was disturbing, and so, the twelve year old curled into a tight ball on the bed, resisting the urge to whimper. He wanted time to stop, right now. The headmaster had meant well with the lunch, and, truly, Harry had enjoyed it immensely. However, the minute it was over, this coldness had settled over him.

The potions master had dismissed himself almost immediately after the lunch was concluded. The headmaster had lingered a bit longer before excusing himself as well to head to his office to speak with the sorting hat. That left Harry with a few hours of solitude before the rest of the student body arrived. He had been fine at first, loitering around the dining area for a while before perusing the man's shelves, allowing his fingers to touch each spine as he walked. Everything in the room had taken on some significance to him.

The vase on the side table that had been broken in an impromptu tossing game between himself and the headmaster; the armchair he and the old man shared occasionally. The bedroom where he was tucked in every night; the doorway the potions master leaned against for long moments after the headmaster had left his side, his presence a reassurance to him before he descended completely into the realm of sleep.

He would miss it all. It was then that the feeling of panic had descended on to him, and he had moved swiftly into the bedroom that always offered him comfort. However, on this occasion, it only exacerbated his problem. Come that evening he would not be in such a comforting place. The night, as would all of them for the next few months, would be spent in the warm but unwelcoming Gryffindor dormitory. There would not be a single friendly face there, and Harry despaired in the fact. After two months of living with caring individuals, it would be hard to return to the other boys. Harry could already envision himself in the dormitory, his curtains the first ones pulled as he tried to ignore the conversations of the other boys who did nothing to include him in their activities, and often teased him. Why did he have to go back to that when he had such a nice home here?

Harry curled tighter into himself, reflecting on the holidays. Undoubtedly, these had been the best months of his life. And yes, he was even including the occlumency lessons in that. They were bearable now, but those first few sessions had been dreadful. And yet, for all that he had hated them, they were proof that he was cared for. There were those evenings in the living room with the potions master and headmaster; the soft laughs he made whenever he discovered another dimension to whatever game he had selected for the afternoon. He would miss the bantering as well, the way that any little comment could lead to a verbal spar between the two men that inevitably led to him stifling laughter. The past two months had given him a chance to see the men in a way he was certain no other student had ever done. But come this evening, it would be gone. Professor Snape would no longer be there for him to follow around; the headmaster would no longer be available for a spontaneous conversation about nothing important.

He would be alone again.

A small whimper tore from Harry's throat at the realisation and he squeezed his eyes shut against tears. He could not cry - would not cry. He could not allow his weaknesses to show now that he was away from Cottage House and in a little while, the safety of the headmaster's quarters. Here there were people who would use it against him. No, he had to do as the potions master told him. He had to assume a public demeanour that would protect him from the rest of the student body. Even if their words hurt him, he was not to let it show. However, he did not even want to do that. If only he could remain here in the safety of this bedroom, there would be no need for the man's guidelines. But that was not possible. Even now, the minutes were ticking away. Soon enough, the school would be filled once again, the serenity of the past week lost.

"Harry, I'm don- Harry?"

The headmaster's voice broke Harry away from his thoughts, and quickly, he tried to compose himself before the man reached him. He failed though, and his eyes revealed his vulnerability when the man gently rolled him over, sitting on the bed beside him.

"What's wrong?" the man asked worriedly, his hand reaching beneath his fringe to feel his forehead. "Are you feeling unwell, child?"

Harry shook his head slightly so not to dislodge the man's hand. "I'm not sick," he replied in a soft voice.

"Then what is wrong with you?" the man pressed, using his free hand to gently guide him closer to his side. "Come now, you can tell me."

The only problem was, Harry thought sadly, he was not certain how to phrase what he was currently feeling. As always though, the headmaster was patient, waiting calmly while Harry tried to organise his thoughts coherently. However, no matter how much he tried, Harry could not seem to express what was on his mind. Thus, he finally settled on three words that said it all. "I'll miss you."

"Oh, Harry," the man breathed, his hand coming up to rub his face gently.

"It's true," the twelve year old whispered. "I'll miss you. I'll miss this."

"Child," Albus began, "We'll still see each other. We were together a lot last year if you recall."

"Yes," Harry acknowledged, "but it's not the same."

A sad smile graced the headmaster's lips as he finally realised the underlying issue. The boy was right. A lot had changed between them in the past few months so much so that he too felt mild dread about the upcoming separation. Yes, they would be in the same compound and would undoubtedly cross paths numerous times. But it would not be the same as in the summer time. The intimacy that they had come to share would be absent except for a few select occasions. "I'll miss it too," he said unconsciously.

"Really?" the boy asked, a bit of surprise in his voice.

Albus resisted the urge to sigh. No matter how far Harry had come, he still bore several insecurities and one had just emerged.

"Of course I will miss you," he stated matter-of-factly. "I couldn't bear having you away from me for days on end. And neither can Severus," he added cheerfully, trying to draw a smile from the boy. "Monopolising your Wednesday afternoons as he has done. I meant to ask you earlier, but I forgot."

"Ask me what?" Harry inquired curiously.

"If you'd be willing to spend the weekends with me," the man revealed. "I can even badger Severus into joining us."

Harry only hesitated for a moment before nodding. "I'd like that," he said sincerely, before resting his head against the man's chest, sighing contentedly.

With that simple offer, the headmaster had alleviated much of his worries. He would still be welcomed here. This place would still serve as a retreat for him when it all became too much for him to handle. He would still have the protection of the headmaster. The end of the holidays did not mean an end to that as well. That realisation bolstered him, and, when the man started murmuring reassurances to him, he was able to give him a genuine smile. And, when minutes later he looked across the room to see Professor Snape watching them with a gentle expression, he knew that he truly had found, and would always have, a home with them, and nothing would change that fact.


	23. Interlude 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically an interlude giving the views of other professors on the issue and this is my response. POV of other people will be done in subsequent interludes. Enjoy.

Filius Flitwick prided himself on several things and rarely ever found an occasion to engage in self-lambasting. Yet, he had never been more ashamed of himself than the day Albus had given all of the Head of Houses a thorough tongue lashing regarding the entire affair with Harry Potter. He had bore it all stoically, not bothering to protest past his initial statement. For truly, Albus had given him something to reflect on. Throwing in his face the names of other students whose parents he had taught at some time had put everything into perspective for him.

Lily Potter had been his favourite student; he had no compunction about saying that. The redheaded witch had had a flair for Charms that reminded him of his own school days. There had been nothing the witch could not do, and, more importantly, she had never been afraid of taking a risk. It had endeared her to him, and was one of the reasons he had offered her an apprenticeship on the eve of her school leaving. The surprise on her face had been telling and he had waited anxiously for her response. Her agreement had bought him great pleasure; for the first time in fifty odd years, the man had found himself an apprentice, someone who he had expected to succeed him once he chose to retire.

Her death a few years later had been devastating and the period afterwards had been extremely difficult for him. Lily had become to him the daughter he had lost to illness decades earlier. He had been at her wedding, and had even shed a tear. When her pregnancy was announced, he had purchased several toys for the unborn child, and had spent countless minutes offering advice about the best way to raise the child. His first encounter with her son had been when he had been around a month old and, despite his obvious resemblance to his father, those eyes staring curiously at him were distinctly Lily's. In that moment, Filius had known that the boy would possess all the talents his mother had had.

The only thing that had lessened his despair at her death was the knowledge that her boy had lived. Not only that, Harry Potter had defeated the Dark Lord. That act had proved his original summation to be true. The boy was a great wizard, and would carry on the legacy of a witch cut down before her time. And then, on September 1st 1991, he had arrived, and proved himself to be a complete disappointment. Like everyone else, the Charms Professor had felt a shiver of excitement when the boy's name had been called in the Great Hall.

Despite his diminutive size, the wizard had felt a blossom of pride in his chest when he caught sight of the emerald eyes behind thick glasses. Lily Evans had returned to Hogwarts through her son, and he had looked forward to teaching him. Everything seemed to fall in place, when, after a long sorting, the boy had joined the house of his parents. Then the first lesson had arrived and all his opinions about the boy changed. The boy who lived, Lily's child, was nothing more than a glorified coward. He had not even held his gaze when the professor had called his name on the roll (well after he had picked himself off the floor) and, when asked a question, he stuttered so terribly that he had almost given up on getting an answer from him.

However, the greatest disappointment of all had come when the boy had failed to levitate his feather. Lily had done it, his father had done it. Harry Potter had barely managed to lift the item off the table, then again, the breeze might have been a contributing factor to the movement. Needless to say, it was a bitter and slightly disillusioned Filius who had sat in Albus' office, listening about the attack. A part of him had snidely thought that Albus had been overreacting. No, he had not wished harm upon the boy, it was simply that he knew, had it been Lily, it would have been the attackers who needed medical care. The headmaster's harsh words had been a slap in the face that jolted him firmly into reality, showing to him just how unfair he had been to the boy.

All of these thoughts echoed through Filius' head as he stood unseen at the top of the staircase, watching as Lily's son and Albus tossed a bright ball back and forth. He had never seen Potter like this. There was a wide smile on the boy's face and his voice flowed fluently with a slightly melodic quality as he spoke to his guardian. That would be helpful to him in later years, he noted absently. Chants required the sort of rhythm that Potter was currently espousing with ease. The Harry Potter he was observing was completely different from the timid boy he had encountered throughout the year. His nature seemed to have changed, and, with a wince of guilt, the professor wondered if the boy might have blossomed sooner if the professors, himself included, had been less brusque with the boy and had offered him the individual care they afforded to the other students. But they – he – had not done that. Harry Potter had failed to meet his original expectations, and thus he had lost interest in him, nurturing the other students, and neglecting to give any attention to him.

Filius felt another pang lance through his heart as the ball rolled a distance away and Albus said something to the boy. Potter nodded slightly before extending his hand. A furrow of concentration marred his face before the ball started rolling toward him, slowly gaining momentum until it was fairly bouncing. The preteen had Lily's gift, he thought sadly, and he had sat in his classroom for a year without him noticing that fact. It was further proof of how he had failed him as a teacher. For all that he had revered Lily, the man had not thought to check if her son had her talent. Instead, he had spent the time bemoaning his seeming ineptitude, grumbling with other professors about how Potter had his parent's wits but lacked their prowess.

For certainly his theoretical skills were above average. At the time, he had believed it to be the only thing he had taken from them. The boy had actually topped the first years in several subjects, however only in the theoretical aspect. If only someone had recognised his ability sooner, Miss Granger may not have been the top student. The witch was brilliant in her own right; already there were whispers that she would probably become the best witch in the year. However, he believed that there was a good possibility for Potter to match, if not surpass her.

He wanted it for Potter, and it was no longer simply because he was Lily's boy. Filius wanted Harry Potter to be the best only because it had been his fault and that of the rest of the faculty that his full potential had not been recognised from the start. That would change, he decided, turning away to head for his classroom. He would do his best to help the messy haired lad achieve success. He owed it to the preteen and he owed it to his mother as well. Hopefully Lily would forgive him for his neglect of her precious boy. He would do his best to right his wrongs.

*

Pomona Sprout prided herself as being a just professor. When she had entered the service she had sworn that she would never show favouritism to any one student no matter who they were. She had remained true to her self-imposed rules, she reflected. Nevertheless, perhaps she should have sworn never to discriminate against a student as well, as that was certainly what she had done with Harry Potter.

Initially, she had thought little of the boy's time at the institute. Despite the fact that he was undoubtedly the most famous wizard of his generation, she had sworn the moment she had realised that he would be joining the student body that she would treat him no differently than any other person. He would have no special treatment. Unconsciously, when she had first seen him in the Great Hall, she had labelled him as a miniature James Potter and had expected a slightly arrogant and mischievous child. He would reserve no special treatment from her. Instead, she found in him a person completely different from his parents; however; that did not colour her treatment of him. In her opinion, she had held steadfast to her rules and treated him normally.

However, in attempting to treat him normally, she had actually gone to the opposite extreme. In not favouring him she had overlooked his accomplishments. Little things he had done, that would have earned another student a praise or nod, had been ignored. Indeed, she had become so accustomed to not paying any obvious attention to him that she had gone too far and had started overlooking him entirely. That was the only explanation that could account for her current shock. Why was it surprising to her that the boy had achieved excellence in her class? The two Os beside his name in her record logs seemed foreign.

Had he truly gotten that grade?

His mark was overshadowed only by Neville Longbottom's, and even then the difference was marginal. That was particularly disturbing to her given how she had, in quiet moments, reflected on how Longbottom would go far in her field and that she would discreetly encourage him. She had given the chubby Gryffindor leave to use her greenhouses outside of class time to further his skills, but she had never made such an offer to Potter. And what bothered her more was whether she would have given him the opportunity even if she had paid attention to his skills. Because, wouldn't that have hinted at favouritism? She honestly believed that she would not have offered him the chance regardless, discriminating against him because of his fame.

The thought left her feeling slightly cold, especially when she took up the hairbrush Severus had sent to her. The man's request was surprising, and indeed, it was him that had sparked her musings on Potter. A little over an hour ago, the potions master had flooed her. Although he would deny it, the Herbology Professor swore there was a slight blush on the pale man's face as he inquired after hair care tips. She had pressed him for more information immediately. The potions master did not put much stock into his appearance, especially in the school year. The only time he truly bothered to do anything about his hair, almost perpetually oily due to his brewing, was when the headmaster took him to task. And even then, she knew his obedience stemmed from a simple desire to shut the man up about the issue. Thus, she knew the charms and spells were not for him, and, after a bit of needling, he had admitted it was for Potter.

She must have missed the memo that Potter was now Albus', although she could not claim any real shock over it. Since the boy's first week the headmaster had taken the boy under his wing, doling out attention to him that other students could only dream of receiving from their headmaster. It was the next logical step, she supposed, especially once the boy's guardians were out of the picture. The headmaster requesting such a thing of her would have been more expected than it coming from Severus Snape. Indeed, beneath his gruff rumbling, the witch sensed affection as the man spoke of the preteen. The man who had once complained over the boy now cared for him? That fact alone was enough to make her agree to assist him.

Which reminded her...

Pulling forth her wand, she tapped the tip against the hairbrush, layering it with several grooming charms. Were Potter female she would have composed a list of products for him, as is, she hoped he had the patience to at least use the brush. Although Severus would undoubtedly ensure that he did. Once she had cast all the spells she could think of onto the item, she made it permanent before sending it off to Severus with an elf. After a moment's thought, she quickly scribbled down the charms and forwarded them to him as well. Potter was a child; she doubted the brush would last a year in his care.

Obligation filled, she turned her attention back to her logbook, and after a last look, closed it and set it aside. She would have to keep a better eye on Potter in the new academic year, she decided. If he truly was as talented as Longbottom, she would encourage him to make the most of his gift.

*

Hogwarts' potions master honestly hoped that Potter could be sworn to silence on this. Albus would never let him live it down if he found out what he had done. Correction, he thought, shaking his head, the man probably already knew. There were few secrets the castle hid from the headmaster; he probably was already aware of the extra room added to his quarters. Well, he considered, as he looked around the newly created room, it was well worth whatever teasing he would have to endure for his actions.

Honestly, he had only now decided to do this for Potter. An afternoon a week was certainly enough, in his opinion, to ensure that the boy was on the right track. Nevertheless, when he had eavesdropped on the two wizards' conversation earlier in the day, he had recognised that one afternoon alone might prove insufficient. He sympathised with Potter. They had introduced him to an entirely new lifestyle, a normal one, and it was expected that he would want to cling to it. Had it been anyone else, he would have just scoffed it off. However, Potter was still very much emotionally unstable; his minor panic attack had proved that.

Severus had already resigned himself to the fact that he would no longer be the dungeon bat when it came to his second year potions class. To do that would be disastrous. The first glare he directed the boy's way would set back his progress. Knowing the preteen as he had come to, the potions master knew what any hint of aggression toward him would do. Potter would take it personally and believe that he had failed his professor in someway and that he was no longer wanted. That would send him back to his timid days, and Severus would gladly curse himself were it to happen.

However, simply toning down his classroom persona did not seem sufficient, and, after a brief contemplation, he had done this. What better way was there to satisfy the boy's desire for continued domesticity than to make him welcome in the dungeons? Unquestionably, it would remind the twelve year old of the days they had spent together without Albus' constant presence. The timetable allowed for it. Potter's last class on a Wednesday and first on a Thursday was Potions. He could remain with him for the entire period and he was certain that the headmaster would override any possible protests from Minerva.

Severus was jarred from his thoughts by a sudden pop in his living room. Swiftly, he moved from the bedroom to investigate the source of the noise. Moments later, a chagrined expression graced his face as he spied a house-elf, more specifically, the house elf that served Albus.

"Yes?" he asked, although he was quite certain what was coming.

"Headmaster Dumbledore sends these," the elf stated, before offering him a note.

The potions master took it before dismissing the servant. "I thought you'd like to have these to add to Harry's room," he read aloud. "After all, he should have some of his things if he's to sleep down there with you. Have fun, my boy."

Not a teasing statement in the entire missive, he noted with slight surprise. Perhaps the man had finally learned that he did not appreciate it. Or else he feared swift retribution. He would decide which it was later, he decided, as he opened the magical bag the elf had left and started emptying it. For now, he would furnish Potter's room with what Albus had sent, ensuring that it would be a place the preteen would want to return to.


	24. Chapter 24

"Is this seat taken?"

Harry's eyes widened slightly as he realised the words truly were directed at him. So far, he had gone mostly unnoticed in the crowded hall. Only a few persons had given him a second glance and they were mainly the early students who were surprised at seeing him already present and seated. The majority though were too engrossed with re-establishing connections with their friends to care about him. That would likely change soon, but for now, he revelled in the relative anonymity.

For a moment, he had misinterpreted the words, too accustomed to being told (and rudely at times) to move around. He had almost done so automatically before the statement truly registered. And, when it did, his head rose swiftly to look at the speaker.

Hermione?

Why did she want to sit by him, especially in such a public setting? Nevertheless, he nodded, although his confusion was evident in his features. The potions master had noted on several occasions how open his expression was. As the witch settled beside him, Neville Longbottom joined them, sitting at the witch's left side. Discreetly, he looked around, expecting the other second years to assemble after them. There was, after all, a large gap after him. That would account for the witch seating herself by him. Hermione was the only one who had ever acknowledged him throughout the past school year; it would be expected that she would be selected to sit by his side. However, the other Gryffindors were nowhere to be seen. Actually, he corrected, looking toward the doors, they had now entered the Hall and were claiming seats toward the middle of the table, whereas they were seated near the end. He had purposely sat here. It had put him close enough to the head table that he felt a sense of security.

That did not answer his initial question though.

Why wasn't the witch with them?

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry glanced at her. She was looking at him, as was Longbottom for that matter. Did they have something to say to him? Should he say something to her – to them? His interactions with Longbottom had been limited, although, now that he thought of it, he and the chubby wizard were in a similar situation. The other Gryffindor was not completely integrated into the popular group. Indeed, Harry could recall times when Seamus and Dean had teased him about his size and ineptitude with magic. The only one who had been worse than him was Harry himself, and that would change this year. Harry could see the other students increasing their ridicule of Longbottom resultantly. He was saddened by that fact.

And then, there was Hermione, who had been careful to limit her words to him to the classroom. Even then, she had rarely looked at him, preferring to give the illusion that they were not actually conversing with each other. For her to talk to him would put her at discord with her other friends and she had been afraid of that. Not that he had blamed her really. Being friends with him was a relatively risky venture. The students in his primary school had learnt that lesson swiftly. Talking to Potter had earned the hapless student the wrath of Dudley Dursley and his friends. That had not changed much at Hogwarts. Talking to him, the fallen hero, was social suicide and would open the person to the same ridicule he faced. He had not blamed the witch for that. He was used to it. He had not expected that to change this year. Actually, his guardian had subtly suggested that he look for friends among the upcoming first years. One year age difference was not that much, and (as the potions master pointed out) with his size, he would fit right in with them.

The man had not meant it snidely; it just was that his body index was still below average for his age. It wasn't too much though, the potions master had assured him that, if he continued to eat sufficient portions, get enough rest and take his potions, his body would be completely recovered by Christmas. And after that, Professor Snape envisioned his growth rate accelerating. Harry was actually looking forward to that. Even seated Hermione and Neville were a good inch or two higher than him. It would be nice to be on equal footing with them.

The sudden silence in the Hall drew Harry from his musings. Everyone had arrived and had seated themselves. By some unknown signal, the talking had, within a minute, ceased, and now, all of the houses were glancing toward the door Harry recalled entering the year before. Were the new students entering now? Indeed they were. The door opened, and the deputy headmistress entered, her stride stiff and her expression as stern as ever. Behind her entered the first years, two rows of young wizards and witches, all looking around them openly, taking in the scenery. Some were gawking openly at the ceiling; others were glancing around at the other students. And then, there was one witch, who was fairly skipping as she walked.

Harry was drawn to her immediately. Her long blonde hair waved around her beneath her hat and her eyes roved around. However, Harry gained the impression that she was not really looking. There was a slightly vacant look in her eyes, not a particularly haunted expression, but vacant nonetheless. She was just – indescribable. Harry wasn't the only one looking at her though. Turning slightly, he saw Hermione nudging Longbottom, discretely pointing her out. Instantly a smile formed on the Gryffindor's face and a hopeful look entered his expression.

Did they know her?

A flash of red re-directed his attention toward the first years. Ginny Weasley, his mind supplied. She was Ron's little sister. He remembered her from the platform, begging her mother to let her come to the school a year early. Well, he thought, she was finally here. He hoped she enjoyed her stay at the castle, and that her first year would be better than his had been. After all, the excitement she had exhibited then had been what he had felt on the train. Hogwarts had seemed to be something straight out of a fairytale for him, undoubtedly it had been for the witch as well. He hoped the fantasy would not be ruined. He doubted that he would have the opportunity to ask her about it. Ron probably had already told her about how he was a failure. Oh well. He wished her the best regardless.

Without the nervousness of his own sorting to deal with, Harry was free to actually listen (attentively) to the Sorting Hat's song, revelling at the novelty of a talking hat. Last year he had been too busy worrying that the device would announce that he was not good enough to attend the school and he would be asked to leave. Watching the sorting now brought forth memories of his own, and, as the first name was called, and the tense witch stepped forward, Harry found his mind drifting to the past, and his conversation with the Hat.

*

_As the professor placed the hat on his head, Harry's world went black and he fidgeted slightly. Okay, what was supposed to happen now? Would he just sit here until the hat shouted something? And, just how had the hat talked in the first place. He knew magic was the cause, but what exactly had been done to it? Was it something he could replicate? Harry envisioned himself animating the broken robot his aunt had given him. At least then he'd have someone to talk to. And, would it work on living things? It would be interesting to hear what his spider had to say._

_"A curious one," a slightly droning voice stated. "The pursuit of knowledge is an honourable quest."_

_Harry jumped slightly. The hat could talk? Well, he knew it could, but the voice did not seem to come from around him. It had come from within him. How was that possible?_

_"Definitely Ravenclaw material," the voice continued. "However, I sense more to you."_

_Harry shifted again. What had Ron said about Ravenclaw? It was an acceptable alternative to Gryffindor. The redhead wanted to go to Gryffindor, badly at that. And Harry wanted to continue the tentative friendship he had established with him. Without Dudley around, he could actually make friends. Was it wrong to want to go into a house for that reason?_

_"You are a loyal one," the Hat mused. "Helga would have appreciated that. You would be welcomed in Hufflepuff...however..."_

_Unbeknownst to Harry, the hat was the one encouraging his free flow of thoughts. He was a difficult one to sort, because, whether consciously or otherwise, he had shields surrounding his memories. It was difficult for the hat to dive into his mind as he was accustomed to doing, and, after a swift scan of the boy's life, decide where he should be placed. Only a small portion of his mind was open to him, and the details in it were not sufficient to determine where to place him. That was very clever of the boy actually, even if he was not aware of it. Mental shields at his age were a good accomplishment, and hinted at a cunning nature. Slytherin was definitely a possibility..._

_However, the boy was showing a loyalty toward a redhead, and by default, his house. Did the boy have what took to navigate Gryffindor, the house for the courageous, daring, and chivalrous? Chivalry he did possess. There was no doubt of that. However he was terribly deficit in the other two areas, although, as he continued to rift through the memories he had access to, the Hat acknowledged that the seeds of it remained, and, with careful nurturing, the boy could develop the attributes. Nevertheless, it would be a long and difficult journey, and the Hat was left to decide if it was worth the risk. Gryffindor could make the boy, but it could also break him. Should he give the boy the easy way out and place him in another house (although which one he had yet to decide). Or should he give him the difficult path, and hope for the best._

_For once, the magical item truly could not decide._

_Harry unknowingly fiddled his thumbs. The voice had been silent for a long time now. Why was that?_

_"Mr. Hat?" he thought hesitantly._

_The response was instantaneous. "You would do good in Ravenclaw," the hat stated. "You have the intelligence and thirst for knowledge to shine there. Or, in the just and righteous Hufflepuff, there you would surely belong. However, cunning and strength you will find in Slytherin."_

_"And Gryffindor?" Harry asked hesitantly, conscious of the fact that it was the only house not mentioned. He wanted to go there. Ron would be there. He wanted a friend!_

_The voice seemed as hesitant as he was when it finally responded. "In Gryffindor you may find nothing but a turbulent home. I cannot see the future, but I know the heart and soul of those who reside in it. Every house has its own merits, but they have their faults as well. Gryffindor, for you may be the worst choice."_

_"How?"_

_"The virtues they possess are the same that condemn them. It is the same for all the houses. The daring will press on regardless to the detriment of others. The cunning may hurt countless others in their thirst for success. There may be a time when the loyal become too loyal, and the intelligent unable to recognise what resides before them."_

_"Every house has its good and bad points then?"_

_"Very much so," the hat agreed. "Mr. Potter, although it disturbs me to say it, I cannot sort you."_

_A shiver of fear ran down the boy's spine. "I have to leave?"_

_"No," the hat corrected. "The choice reverts to you. The situation is not unprecedented, such cases have happened before although not in recent times. I cannot decide, so you may choose."_

_"You won't interfere?"_

_"I cannot. The choice is yours. However, if you desire, you can request another meeting with me. The headmaster cannot refuse it. I can reassess you then, and, if you desire, change your house."_

_"Has anyone ever done that?"_

_"One did," the hat said vaguely. "Have you decided?"_

_Never before had he had to make such an important decision before. This house business seemed to be crucial to his future, how was he supposed to decide? Ron had plainly stated that Gryffindor was the best, and that Slytherin was the worst. Yet he seemed suited to both – all in actuality. More than that, the hat seemed most reluctant to place him in Gryffindor. Should he ere on the side of caution and choose one of the houses the hat seemed more confident with. Or should he choose to stay by Ron's side?_

_In the end, it was the lure of friendship that convinced him._

_The hat instinctively knew of his choice, for it hummed slightly._

_"The path you have chosen will be a difficult one. I wish you success in Gryffindor!"_

_The last was shouted for the school to hear, and Harry slowly removed the hat from his head, blinking owlishly when the Hall came back into focus. There was delayed applause, however when it came it was tumultuous, especially from his chosen house. It would be a while before he realised that his sorting had been among the longest to date. However, for the moment, he had cared less. He was in Gryffindor; he was with friends. ___

*

"Ravenclaw!"

Harry blinked, tuning back into the sorting. A long haired witch was walking toward the third table from the right, where the students were cheering for her. His own hands were moving automatically, clapping for her. Had he been doing it the entire time? Regardless, the girl was the last to be sorted, for now the deputy was putting away the stool and hat. Harry's eyes lingered on the item until it was completely out of sight, before, with a small smile, he looked toward the headmaster, who was now on his feet.

"Welcome back to all returning students, and a special welcome to the newcomers among us. May you all find a happy home in out institution, for it will be your home for the foreseeable future. Now, I can hear you stomachs rumbling from here so I will leave you with these parting words. Qui veraciter es."

A lot of the students chuckled at the seemingly nonsensical words the headmaster had uttered. It was a tradition for him to say something like that. Some students took it as a sign of lunacy; others thought it was a way for him to break the tension the new students felt. Harry however, shot the man a contemplative glance. The phrase had been Latin. He called forth the words he knew from the ancient language. The potions professor had been teaching him the rudimentary elements of it.

"It makes no sense to learn spells and not understand the founding language. A great majority of our modern spells come from Latin, and many of our texts are translations from it as well."

And so, the man had taught him, and, although his grasp of it was not too good given the relatively short time he had been studying it, he knew enough to hatch a rough translation.

"Be true to who you are," he whispered. Somehow, he felt as if the words were being directed his way.

And, as the feast appeared, Harry made a note to inquire what language the man had taken the previous year's words from and to discern the significance of it.

*

This was not going to be as easy as she thought it would. Why did she think it would have been in the first place? These thoughts ran through Hermione's mind as she looked at the boy seated beside her. Except for his affirmative, Harry had not acknowledged her in the least. Did she truly blame him? She had seen the scepticism at her question, and he had blatantly looked around the hall searching for Ron and the others. Had her actions truly been so obvious to him? It seemed so, and that would only make her goal all the more harder.

A part of her had hoped Harry would not have taken note of her actions. That way insinuating herself with him would have been easier. However, a cautious Harry would be difficult to approach. Would he even believe her? Sighing softly she turned to Neville, who gave her a sympathetic look before looking toward the Ravenclaw table once again. She knew he was disappointed. He and the first year girl...Luna she believed, had become fast friends on the train. She had purposely taken long to board the train, allowing her 'friends' to precede her and claim a carriage. It was thus easier for her to avoid them, and she was able to find a separate compartment. The witch wondered exactly where on the train Harry had been.

She had searched for him and had seen no sign of him. Slightly disappointed, she had joined Neville, her companion for the first train ride she recalled. It was slightly fitting that she had found Trevor hopping along the corridor as she had walked, returning him to Neville as she had the first time around. Luna Lovegood was a curious person, and Hermione could honestly say she had never met someone as interesting as her. She had been, and still was, sceptical of some of the things the eleven year old said. Nargles and the likes – either she was making the things up or Hermione truly had more to learn about the wizarding world. For all her eccentric expositions, she and Neville seemed to have stuck an accord, conversing lightly about things that she could only listen to with amazement.

Regardless, it had been interesting to observe Neville interacting with the witch. Conversing with her, Hermione could see no sign of the nervous Gryffindor. There was no hesitancy; instead, Neville was almost radiant as he explained the greenhouse Luna would be working in. To say Hermione had been surprised when the blonde had entered Ravenclaw would be an understatement. Really, she was intelligent? But then again, she had noted, while patting Neville's shoulder sympathetically (he had hoped she would join them), the most intelligent persons had quirks. The headmaster was the perfect example of that. He was the ultimate wizard as far as all the texts were concerned, however Hermione truly could not associate greatness with a man who uttered such nonsensical terms.

Her attention was diverted when Harry muttered something, and she strained to hear what he was saying with no result. She was curious, and, it would give her an opening to converse with him.

"What did you say Harry?" she asked curiously.

The surprise on his face saddened her. She had so much to make up for. Was it so shocking that she would talk to him? Harry was eyeing her strangely, and, after a moment, he responded.

"Be true to who you are," he told her before looking away, reaching for the vegetables.

The words struck her, and she reached for the potatoes automatically while musing on it. A compelling statement, random though it be. She wondered if Harry meant it as a motto. It was a good one if that was the case. She herself could benefit from such a belief.

Neville elbowed her gently. "Just talk to him," he whispered encouragingly.

She nodded slightly. "Um, Harry," she began, gaining his attention once again, "I...er..."

Why was it so hard to talk to him? She had spent the past few weeks envisioning this moment. She had worked out exactly what she would say to him, had prepared herself thoroughly. Yet all of those plans went through the window the moment she had sat beside him.

"Is something wrong?" the boy asked her.

His stuttering was not as bad as previously she noted. And, he was meeting her gaze fairly easily. He still looked away occasionally, but for the most part, his startling emerald eyes remained trained on her.

"Pass the peas please," she finished lamely.

Harry's brows arched slightly (where had she seen such an action before?), but he passed the bowl over regardless before returning to his own meal. His appearance was different, she thought, studying his profile. Something was different about him...a lot was different about him actually. But then again, it may simply be that she had never paid so much attention to him before to notice.

"Leave him alone for now," Neville urged her. "You're making him uncomfortable."

Hermione did not want to, however, pressing him further at this point might simply make the entire situation worse. She would leave him be and reassess her options before trying again.

*

"Off to bed already Potter?" Weasley asked mocking. "It's barely nine o clock, what a baby!"

The redhead was standing near the door of the dormitory. He was waiting for Finnigan, who had come up here for some game he had brought with him. Until their arrival, the room had been empty save himself and Longbottom. The latter was reading on his bed, although, like the rest, he was still in his uniform. Harry, however, had automatically followed his home routine. It was quarter to nine and he had already bathed and changed, and was now neatening his trunk once again. He had only removed the essentials from it thus far.

Every student, in addition to their bed, had a small bedside cabinet and miniature wardrobe in which to store their belongings. He and Longbottom were the only ones to have unpacked so far, the other Gryffindor commenting lightly that it would save them time come morning. Harry had noted the slightly puzzled expression on the other wizard's face as he hung only a few shirts and pants, and a robe or two. His casual clothing was with the headmaster and, undoubtedly, the wizard was wondering if he planned to remain in uniform on weekends this year as well. Some students chose to do so, he having been one of them. The clothing he had from the Dursleys would have attracted too much attention to him, well, even more attention. The uniform was unassuming.

Harry glanced at the redhead, reflecting on how instrumental he had been for him being in this dormitory currently. If they had not shared the same compartment, what house would he have been in?

According to Professor Snape's advice, he should respond to the wizard's words, not in a way to encourage a confrontation, but with an air that would clearly inform the redhead that his statement was childish and not worthy of a response from him. Longbottom spoke before he could manage to summon the words however.

"Actually, I'm tired as well," he declared, setting aside his book. "Harry's got the right idea."

Harry looked at him in surprise, although grateful for the support.

Finnigan snorted, and bearing the game, moved to join Ron. "Ladbottom defending Potty?" he asked with false incredulity.

"Real mature," Longbottom said, rolling his eyes as he rose from his bed.

"Leave them be," Ron stated, putting a hand on his friends shoulders. "They're two peas in a pod."

"A pod of losers," the other boy smirked before the pair left the room.

Harry rocked back slightly on his heels. So much for a good start to the year, he noted sadly. Nothing had changed. He wished he was back home at Cottage House, or at least safely tucked away in the headmaster's quarters.

"We showed them huh?"

The twelve-year-old blinked, jolted out of his reverie by Longbottom's words.

"I didn't do anything," he replied with a hint of sadness.

"You did plenty," the boy corrected, smiling. "Are you really going to sleep now?"

Harry nodded as he rose, sitting on the edge of his bed. "My bedtime's nine o clock at home."

"Mine's nine thirty," the boy offered. "I'm really tired though. Gran woke me up at six. She was positive that I'd forget something and we'd have to go back for it and be late for the train."

That was not too farfetched a belief, Harry acknowledged. Longbottom was always forgetting something.

"And did you?"

"I did," the boy chuckled. "Three times. I barely made it on the train in time."

Harry chuckled softly at the boy's words. It was admirable the way Longbottom could laugh at himself. He was too bothered by his own faults to ever find humour in it.

"Anyway, we should get as much sleep as possible. Tomorrow's bound to be tiresome. What do you think we'll have first?"

Harry cocked his head thoughtfully, trying to remember. He had helped to sort out the timetables after all. "Potions," he supplied after a moment.

Longbottom eyed him strangely, probably surprised at the surety in his voice. "Well we did have it first last year," he reasoned. "I just hope it isn't with the Slytherin's this time."

"It is," he answered. "We keep the divisions from first year."

"Oh."

Harry looked away as the Gryffindor shirked out of his uniform before donning his pyjamas. That was another thing he had been teased about. He always changed in the bathroom and averted his gaze when others changed. They argued it was a "manly" trait – whatever that meant.

"You can look now," Longbottom stated, although without the teasing quality of the other boys. "Anyway, I'm going to finish the chapter I'm on then I'll sleep."

"That's cool," he responded, tugging at the covers.

"Harry?"

"Yes?"

The twelve year paused, turning to look at him. Neville was settled once again, the book resting lightly against his chest. "Hermione was just trying to talk to you."

Harry's eyes widened and unconsciously he sat on the bed. "She was?" he inquired, his stuttering worsening slightly at his surprise.

The blonde boy nodded. "Just give her a chance okay?" he requested. "She really wants to talk to you."

"I will," Harry agreed after a moment. He owed Longbottom that much at least after the way he had stood up for him.

The other Gryffindor nodded. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "I'll talk to you in the morning okay?"

"Okay," Harry stated, reaching up to pull his curtains. "Goodnight...Neville."

"Goodnight Harry," the boy called back.

The bed was immediately shrouded in darkness as the curtains fell close, but for Harry, it was a welcomed respite. It had been an eventful day, he thought, burrowing beneath the sheets. His goodbye to his guardians, the memories the feast had brought back, Neville defending him, learning that Hermione had actually been trying to talk to him. Him! Despite the drawback with Weasley and Finnigan, generally it had been a good day. He had much to consider, the most important being Hermione. However, he was tired, and trying to think logically was never a good thing to do when one wanted to sleep. He would unravel the mystery tomorrow.

Harry fell asleep minutes later, curled comfortably on his bed. His last conscious thought was that he had actually had a conversation with another student, a good one at that in his summation.

Maybe he was on his way to finding a friend?

  



	25. Chapter 25

"Who are the losers now?" Neville whispered, tossing his head lightly toward the doors.

Harry chuckled softly as he followed the boy's gaze to where the remainder of their year mates were now hustling into the hall, an obviously annoyed Percy Weasley trailing behind them.

"What time did they go to bed?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," Neville shrugged. "However, their curtains weren't pulled when I got up to use the bathroom and that was after eleven."

"Wow."

That really was late, Harry reflected. Especially considering that the first day of school was usually the most hectic. But then again, he had slept later than that occasionally in the last academic year, especially when he had abandoned the Gryffindor quarters for a more welcoming part of the school. Nevertheless, that had been before the guardianship; now he was well accustomed to following a schedule. He really couldn't fathom how he had even managed the odd hours he had kept before coming under their care.

"Parvati and Lavender came in at eleven thirty," a new voice supplied, catching their attention.

Harry leaned forward slightly to see past Neville to where Hermione sat.

"They woke me up with their laughing."

"I'm glad I'm a strong sleeper," Neville responded around a mouthful of eggs.

"Me too," Harry said eventually, still looking at the witch.

Once again, she was with Neville, and, well, him. Why? Had something happened between her and the other second years for her to stay here with them? Last year, the witch always remained with the others, no matter how late they remained in the common room or where they chose to venture. Once or twice, Harry had wondered why she did it. She had never looked entirely comfortable around them. More than that, sometimes the words they directed toward her bordered on being cruel. Yet she had always stayed.

What had changed?

A lot had changed actually, he noted, turning back to his meal. This morning had been almost surreal for him. Emerging from the bathroom in his school uniform, he had been shocked to find Neville, fully dressed, perched on the end of his bed. He had been waiting for him, an entirely new experience for the Gryffindor. The chubby wizard had then proceeded to pack his bag based on Harry's suggestions as to what classes they might have that day.

This morning had been the first time Harry had experienced something he had witnessed numerous times. Walking along the corridor with someone, having a conversation with them as they made their way to their destination had been novel. It was something most people took for granted; however, he treasured it. A certain part of him noted that perhaps he should be wary of Neville. Why was he suddenly so friendly with him? However, as he reminded himself, maybe Neville had always been this way and he had not noticed?

Once the headmaster had come into his life, everything else had taken a backseat for Harry. Every spare moment he could manage had found him in the man's quarters, and, when he was not with him, he had been locking himself away in spare classrooms trying to force his wand to work for him. Well, whatever the reason had been then, Neville was making a considerable effort with him now, and he would reciprocate it.

"Where did that come from?" Neville asked suddenly, interrupting his thoughts.

Harry followed his gaze, before frowning slightly as well. That goblet certainly had not been next to his plate a moment ago. Curious, Harry took hold of the cup, before inspecting its contents. The liquid was a dull orange colour, one that he was not entirely unfamiliar with. Looking toward the head table, his eyes met the potion master. Professor Snape nodded slightly at him, gesturing that he was to drink it.

"Harry?"

"It's my medicine," he explained, swirling the goblet slightly as he glanced to the wizard. "I have to take it every morning."

"Your guardians sent a letter to the school then?" Hermione asked, leaning forward slightly. "I've read that once the school knows about your medical needs, they'll ensure that you get your medicine as necessary."

"I suppose they did," Harry acknowledged, although there was a slightly vague edge to his tone that the two did not notice.

There was no need for a letter from his guardians, Harry thought, as he slowly drank from the goblet. They were already here and could ensure personally that he continued his regiment. He had wondered about that this morning after he had put on his glasses. He had grown accustomed to seeing vials beside him whenever he awakened. He had admittedly hoped that their absence meant that he no longer required them. Two months of taking them had not changed the fact that they tasted terrible. Sighing slightly, Harry drank deeply, musing that this concoction tasted different from the ones he was used to taking. He would ask the potions master about it when he met with him on Wednesday, he decided, setting the goblet aside.

"How often do you have to take it?"

"I'm not sure," Harry said honestly. "In the holidays I had a few to take every morning. But there's only the one here."

"What are they for?" the witch questioned.

"Hermione!" Neville chided. "That's personal."

The witch's eyes widened slightly as her hand flew to her mouth. "I'm sorry," she stated, abashed for a moment, her cheeks pink. "I don't think before I speak sometimes."

"It's alright," Harry responded, finding her reaction oddly humorous. Maybe that was why Professor Snape tended to chuckle whenever Harry embarrassed himself? There was something inherently amusing in the facial expression.

"Professor McGonagall's coming," Neville pointed out, neatly directing the conversation away from Harry. "Let's see if you're right about Potions being first."

"I packed all my books. I wasn't sure which we'd need."

"You plan on logging all of those things around for the entire day?" Neville asked in disbelief.

Hermione shrugged slightly, pushing a strand of hair away from her face. "I'd rather be over prepared."

"I'd rather stand straight," Neville shot back. "Don't tell me you packed your gloves for Herbology as well?"

"Maybe I did," the witch replied pertly.

"Practicals don't start the first day."

"You never know..."

Harry snickered softly, as he looked around the Hall. All of the Heads of Houses were on their feet now, distributing schedules. Professor Flitwick was speaking with the blonde girl from the night before. Her eyes looked as vacant as ever, Harry noted, and, after a moment, the professor moved away from her, expression slightly bemused. What could she have said to put such an expression on his face?

Out of all the teachers, Harry thought that Professor Snape was the most efficient. The man's ebony wand was in his hand, and, with lazy flicks of his wand, the schedules rose, floating toward the respective student. Although, Harry thought, it was slightly odd that, now of all times, the man would rely on magic to complete the task. He was a pioneer for physical work. But then again, he amended, watching a slight, almost indiscernible grimace crease the man's face, he'd have temporarily forgone his motto if it meant avoiding the incessant conversation of 'snot-nosed brats', even if they were his own house.

"Do try not to get detention the first day of class gentlemen," Professor McGonagall said sternly, glaring at the Weasley twins a few seats away.

"Yes, Professor," they chirruped in tandem. Only the witch's stern presence kept the surrounding students from laughing. The Weasley twins always got in trouble the first day: it was a well-established routine for them that dated back to their first year.

Harry stiffened slightly when the Transfigurations Professor reached him.

"Good morning, Professor," he greeted, his voice warbling slightly.

Beside him, Neville and Hermione quickly followed suit, their conversation forgotten.

The witch nodded at them. "It's nice to see that some of my second years managed to rouse themselves unassisted." It was the nearest thing to praise from the witch that Harry had ever received, and he flushed slightly. "Here are your schedules for the remainder of the term. I trust that you all will continue to do your best."

Maybe he had imagined it, but some reason Harry thought that the witch meant the statement solely for him. For indeed, her eyes were still on him, and remained there for long moments before she looked away.

"Oh and Miss Granger," she added, retrieving her wand. "Perhaps this will make your load more bearable."

The witch murmured an incantation as she waved her wand in the general direction of her student's bag.

"Thank you," Hermione said, flushing slightly. "Were we talking so loudly?" she demanded, after the witch moved away from them.

"Either that or she knows you too well," Neville teased, before reading the schedule. "Merlin, Harry," he gasped a moment later. "You were right!"

"I told you so," Harry smiled. "Shall we head for the dungeons?"

"Sure," Neville agreed, although he no longer seemed so cheerful.

Harry reminded himself that out of all his classes, Potions was Neville's worst, and, until recently, had been his as well. The bushy haired teenager seemed to realise the same thing for she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly.

"Didn't you say that your Gran hired a tutor for you, Neville?"

"She did," he agreed, straightening slightly. "She said that I improved loads."

"Good," the witch declared. "Just relax and you'll be fine."

"Yeah," he nodded, seeming slightly more confident now. "Let's go."

"We'll have our choice of seats," Hermione added.

"You're sitting with us?" Harry blurted out in surprise. He cringed slightly as he realise exactly what he had said, especially when a shadowed look crossed the witch's face.

"I am," she said, after a moment. "At least, if you don't mind?"

The witch lost every ounce of good humour that had been on her face at his words. Her tone had been hesitant at best, and her eyes lowered toward the floor. Neville glanced at her before shooting Harry a slightly beseeching look. Harry nodded after a moment. Even without the boy's request, he would have done so. He hated seeing someone looking miserable, especially at something he had caused. While he did not know exactly what was going on with the witch, he did not really mind if she wanted to sit with him. It was just strange given that she had never willingly done so before.

"I don't," Harry confirmed.

"Then it's decided," Neville interjected, walking ahead of them. "Let's go."

"Okay," the witch said, looking considerably happier as she followed him.

Harry trailed slightly behind them, taking a moment to straighten his clothing. He wanted to be impeccable for the Professor. As he passed the head table, he felt a brush of magic waft over him and his hand automatically clenched when a slight weight settled in it. He glanced toward the headmaster, attuned enough with him to recognise his magical signature. His guardian winked at him before returning to his conversation with the Astronomy Professor. Falling in step behind the other two Gryffindors, Harry unfurled the parchment in his hand.

"Have a great week my boy," he read silently. "I'm looking forward to hearing all about your adventures this weekend."

Harry pocketed the note, struggling to keep a happy smile off his face. That was something he was looking forward to as well.

*

They were indeed the first to arrive at the classroom, and, patiently they waited outside of the classroom. Teachers rarely left their classrooms open and unattended. The potions master, for one, kept the room locked until at least fifteen minutes before the session began. Hermione and Neville chatted softly; however, Harry was too preoccupied to join in. He was slightly nervous now. What if he messed up the potion? Would the man scold him terribly? It was a fear he had always possessed when it came to the lesson, however now, more than ever, he wanted to prove his capability to the man.

This was the first lesson of the year, the moment when he would have to prove to the man that teaching him had not been a waste of time. He did not want to disappoint the person who had done so much for him recently. Harry was seized by a sudden urge to pull out his textbook and quickly scan the first few chapters. Nevertheless, the door swung open before he had a chance to decide either way. He swallowed deeply before heading into the room, glancing around automatically.

The room was empty of its teacher, which, given his nervousness, was a bit of a relief. Usually he would have headed straight for the back row (his futile attempt in the previous year to avoid the man's notice). However, he knew that Hermione would not want to sit there. The witch preferred the front sections of the classroom, while Neville, he recalled, seemed to have no particular preference. No matter where he sat, he was sure to do something wrong and attract attention to himself. Uncertain, he glanced to the other two, who seemed to pick up on his unasked question.

"The middle?" Hermione suggested.

"Does it really matter?" Neville put in, although he had already started walking toward the indicated area. "I heard that group work was only for first years."

"That isn't true," Hermione frowned. "Percy Weasley said that he had a partner straight through until OWL year."

"I don't think that always happens. The sixth year is really large. Maybe they had no choice but to partner?"

"Well, that is true," she shrugged. "I prefer individual work."

"That's because you're already brilliant at potions. Us normal folk need someone else to make sure everything goes fine, right, Harry?"

"I didn't have a partner last year," the twelve year old pointed out.

The other two blinked in surprise.

"Really?" Hermione asked, with slight scepticism.

"There's an odd number," Harry explained, "and no one really wanted to partner with me."

A guilty look crossed the other two's faces. "Professor Snape shouldn't have allowed it," the witch said. "That was unfair. We could have taken turns so that no one would be stuck alone."

"Who wants to be my partner?" the boy said honestly, taking out his parchment.

He missed their expressions, especially the look of determination on Hermione's.

"That'll change this time," she murmured softly, the words not reaching him. Neville though, nodded.

Unbeknownst to the students, they were not the only ones in the room, as they seemed to believe. Severus had been in the classroom for a good minute or so before he had unlocked the door, having come through the floo in his office. He had not been expecting anyone to arrive for at least another ten minutes, and, not wanting to be caught unawares (he had a reputation to maintain after all), he had disillusioned himself before the first student rounded the corner.

Of course, it had had to be Potter, he had thought wryly, and he had been about to drop the spell before the other two trailed in after him. Absently, the man noted that it was good that he was invisible. He would not have lived it down had anyone seen the blatant look of shock on his face.

Longbottom and Granger?

Them of all people? The man knew that he should be content; the child looked happy enough (well, beneath the slightly pensive look). Indeed, it was jarring to see the speed at which Potter had assimilated himself with someone. The potions master honestly expected it to take several days, and, even then, he, like Albus, had expected him to befriend some of the new students who would be largely unaware of the rumours that dogged him. Nevertheless, for the shy boy to so quickly insinuate himself with people - it was odd. Scratch that, he thought, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at something the witch said, it was not something Potter would do.

Which meant that the two were up to something. Why else would they hang around someone they had almost entirely ignored the year before? Severus' eyes narrowed as he glared at the pair who had situated themselves on either side of him. He was well versed in the habits of Gryffindors, and knew that the house had the propensity enough to create an elaborate scheme with the sole purpose of humiliating someone. He had experienced it enough in his tenure at the school. The reopening of the school year had rarely boded well for him. It had just given the Marauders more time to refine their strategies against him. But then again, compared to some of the other second years, these two were relatively harmless (or an accident waiting to happen when it came to Longbottom). He highly doubted them capable of any nefarious actions against Potter.

However, they – Granger especially – might be gullible enough to participate in a prank against the boy if the other students told her to. That one had only book sense, he mused, as he discreetly slipped into his office when he believed them too distracted to note the door opening. He did not know much about the witch except that she made a nuisance of herself in the classroom (one did not have to answer every single question to prove their intelligence).

Nevertheless, intelligent persons were often quite cunning in their own right. Why would a witch so careful to annihilate herself from Potter the year before so openly stand by his side now unless she was planning something? Longbottom was negligible, he decided, dismissing him entirely. But the witch – he would have to keep an eye on her interactions with Potter.

If her intentions truly were genuine then so be it. However, he was not going to allow her to derail Potter's progress if it truly was nothing but a cruel joke against him. He would do for the boy what no one had ever thought to do for him. He would offer him protection against the cruelty of the other students, for he truly understood how painful it could be.

*

Harry's nervousness increased exponentially in the minutes it took the class to start. He had given in to his urge and had started flipping through his textbook. After a moment, Neville followed suit while Hermione settled for softly rattling off the main points of each chapter. Harry raised his head for a moment to look at her with awe. She really was brilliant, he thought before returning to his quick perusal of the pages. Engrossed in his task, he did not notice the arrival of the other students, nor the snorts the other Gryffindors made after spying them together.

Neville though, glared at the redhead's reiteration that they were losers, before gently nudging Hermione. Even though the witch had not looked up, her soft recital had abruptly ended, and, a quick glance to her lowered face revealed a hurt expression. It really had to be hard on her, he acknowledged. Realising that one was being used was bad enough; however, encountering the physical truth in this way had to be worse. He, at least, was used to it. They had never made secret their contempt for him; after all, he was in no way useful to them. Hermione though, they had strung along for the entire year. The blonde haired wizard stifled a regretful sigh. He wished he'd told her earlier, she might not have been in so awkward a position now.

"I'll be fine," the witch whispered softly.

"I know," he agreed, before turning back to his own readings.

Harry released a relieved breath as he reached the end of the first chapter. He had only been scanning through the pages, but thankfully, nothing seemed foreign to him. Not that it should, he noted, fingering the edge of a page idly. He had read the first half of the book over the past few weeks, and the potions master had patiently cleared up the occasional misconceptions that he had had. He would be fine if the man decided on an oral quiz this year as well.

He had improved a lot; however, the potions master had freely admitted that he was not a 'natural' at the practical aspect of the subject, as he lacked the inane instinct brewers possessed. Nevertheless, there was no reason he could not succeed in the subject; he would just have to pay close attention to his work, and put in more effort. The man believed he could do it; however, it was up to Harry to have faith in himself that he truly could excel in the practical component of the subject.

"Miss Brown, you should know by now that wands are not required in this classroom," a drawling voice said suddenly, immediately halting all conversations in the room.

Harry's eyes swivelled to the doorway where the potions master stood in all his dark glory. For a moment, a sliver of fear ran through the twelve year old. This Snape was the one he had encountered the previous year. The man's expression was almost menacing, and, the way his arms were folded loosely across his chest gave him a distinctly authorial look.

"Sorry, Professor!" the witch replied as she quickly pocketed it.

The Professor said nothing further, and instead, seated himself at his desk, pulling what Harry assumed to be the roll toward him. Deftly, he moved through the list of names, not looking up as the students responded.

"Malfoy?" he called.

"Present, sir," the Slytherin stated, in a lofty tone.

Beside him, Neville quietly snorted. Harry agreed with the boy's sentiments. Draco Malfoy was not a pleasant person to say the least. He was extremely arrogant and continuously insulted those around him, even his friends. Occasionally, he shot insults Harry's way as well, however, those times were generally far apart as they rarely crossed paths. Besides, the other Gryffindors were usually a more substantial target for his cutting attacks.

"Mr. Potter?"

"Here, sir," he said automatically.

The difference was slight; however, it was there. The man's voice had softened on his name, and, for the first time since he had started, Professor Snape's eyes lifted from the parchment and he acknowledged him. The tension faded out of the twelve year old.

Professor Snape was still the same.

Once Zabini confirmed his presence, the roll was put away and an uneasy silence fell onto the room. After a moment, the potion master rose from his seat, taking up a long ruler in his hand. Idly, he tapped it against his leg as he paced for a moment. Harry had an idea of what was to come; he was right.

"Parkinson," he snapped, abruptly pointing the ruler toward the Slytherin. "What is the key ingredient of a Strengthening Potion?"

"Dried caterpillars, sir."

"Why, Zabini?"

"It's rich in nutrients," the wavy haired Slytherin replied.

The potions master nodded, and asked a few more questions before he turned his attention toward the next side of the class (which incidentally contained the majority of the Gryffindor students). Harry squared his shoulders, knowing that eventually a question would come his way.

"Finnigan," the professor inquired, tapping the ruler once again, "What do fluxweed, ginger and nettles have in common?"

Silence.

After a long moment, Harry, as were the other students, twisted slightly toward the wizard under examination. The Irish boy had a slightly dumbfounded expression on his face. Harry felt some sympathy for the preteen, despite his poor attitude toward him the night before. The question was not difficult per se. Nevertheless, he had experienced the situation the wizard was in now, and knew how uncomfortable and embarrassing it was to be in such a position.

"Finnigan?" Snape repeated dryly.

"I don't know," the boy said after a moment.

Harry waited for the tongue-lashing to start. It was one of the cardinal rules of the potions classroom - never admit to ignorance. You would only set yourself up for a worse scolding. Yet, the potions master did not comment past a raised eyebrow; instead, he moved along the line. "Thomas? What is the answer?"

"No idea," he told the Professor plainly. Unlike the first student, there was not an ounce of regret in his tone.

"Weasley?"

"They're plants?" the redhead ventured uncertainly, breaking the second cardinal rule.

If one did not know the answer, make an educated guess and not point out the obvious. Harry observed the potions master's reactions. His eyebrow twitched slightly, indicting his annoyance, yet, once again, he said nothing by way of rebuke. That was the major difference between this session and the one of the previous year, Harry noted. Professor Snape was displaying a lot more patience than he had ever done before in a classroom.

However, that patience seemed quickly to be ending, given how the man's hand clenched around the base of the ruler. As if reading his thoughts, the Professor's dark gaze turned to him, and the man arched his brow at him.

"Potter?" he inquired simply.

It was now or ever, Harry thought, swallowing. "They must be harvested at the full moon to retain full potency?" he offered.

The answer was correct; the brief glint in the man's eyes indicated that. However, it seemed that he was not entirely pleased by the answer given, for he continued, saying, "Are you asking or telling me Mr. Potter?"

"Telling sir," he responded, his voice ringing with certainty this time.

"Very well," he nodded, eyes lingering on him a moment longer before he turned his attention to Neville.

If the class had been shocked by Harry's correct answer, they were downright floored when Neville managed the same feat, although, learning from Harry, he kept his tone certain from the start. Even the potions master seemed hard-pressed to keep his expression neutral at the depth of the blonde boy's statements. He ended the oral quiz with Hermione, who (to no one's surprise) answered correctly, so much so that the Professor had to cut her off when she paused to launch into renewed explanations.

"This is exactly why I stop reading your essays mid-way, Granger," he stated, turning away from her. "You do not need to highlight every last detail to prove your point."

That cowed the witch a bit; however, by the time the potions master reached the blackboard, she had recovered.

"It's nice to know," the Professor drawled, "that some of you have returned slightly more knowledgeable than a first year student. As for the rest..."

He let his voice drift off as he made the lesson appear on the board, ignoring the sniggers coming from the Slytherin half of the class and the loud mutters from the Gryffindors. "Today, I will start with the Wit Sharpening Potion, something many of you most assuredly need."

All the murmurings ceased then, and for the next forty or so minutes, the only sound other than the Professor's voice was the scratching of quill against parchment. The time flew past quickly for Harry. Studying throughout the holidays really had proven beneficial. The man had not taught him directly from the second year curriculum, nevertheless, the theories and explanations he had provided to him then, as well as the books he had been required to read, had given him more than enough information to follow along easily.

Unlike the majority of his peers, his scribbling was not frantic but more precise, as he settled for just noting the key points of the lecture. Neville was doing the same thing, and Harry wondered if his tutor had covered this as well. Regardless, Harry was glad that his newfound friend was more confident in his endeavours, and made a note to later ask him if he had gotten assistance in other subject areas as well. It would be wrong, he decided, if Neville became the primary object of ridicule by the rest of their year simply because Harry now had access to the full range of his capabilities.

"Next class will be a practical session," Professor Snape stated, by way of closure. "I expect you all to have carefully studied chapters one and two. Believe me when I say I will know if you have not."

The man turned away from the class then, erasing the board before starting to construct the lesson plan for the following class. There was the sound of hurried packing and shuffling quickly pervaded the room. The school allowed for a ten-minute break between classes for students to move destinations; however, it was always a stretch to reach class on time after Potions. Through his explorations of the school, both during the holidays and during the previous year, Harry had learned several shortcuts that would take him to the Charms classroom in a fraction of the time. Therefore, he packed at a more leisurely pace, and was among the last to make his way out of the classroom.

"I expect to hear good reports about you in the staff room," the potions master called after him.

Harry paused, looking toward him. Goyle blinked owlishly at the potions master; however, a quick glare from the man hurried him out of the classroom.

"I will try, sir," he promised.

"Good boy," the man said shortly, shooting him an approving look. "Behave in the remainder of your classes, and disregard whatever the students may say."

"Okay."

"Off you go then," he bid, waving his hand. "I'll not have you late on my accord."

"Yes, sir," Harry nodded. "Have a good day."

"You too," Severus stated, and shortly, Harry was out the door.


	26. Chapter 26

The pre-class anxiety Harry felt before the Charms class commenced ended after a few words from his professor. The tiny instructor had settled for a theory only class, and, consequently, the inevitable was delayed for at least another hour. Out of all of their teachers, Harry had to admit, Professor Flitwick was perhaps the most lenient. The actual lesson had lasted all of half an hour, and consisted of an oral quiz before the man left them to their devices, citing that the actual teaching would begin the next day. He might have imagined it, Harry thought, as he nodded to something Neville told him, but he was almost certain that the Professor was observing him, although he could discern no motive. After a moment, Harry dismissed the matter, and, instead, tuned in to the conversations of those around him.

It appeared that the potions master was the most popular topic of debate currently, as people speculated over his behaviour in the previous lesson. The general consensus was that the headmaster had warned him about his behaviour, and that was why his attitude had improved. Others still argued that it was all an elaborate ruse on the man's part, and that they should be extra wary of him. Others though, simply saw it as a reprieve, and hoped that the milder behaviour would continue.

"What I find most odd," Hermione stated, throwing her own two cents into the topic, "is the fact that he didn't give Slytherin any points. I mean, we all know that he favours the snakes even more than he hates us. It's weird he wouldn't reward them at all, even though the questions he gave them were far simpler than ours."

The witch's tone bore a hint of derision that Harry found bothersome. Indeed, he almost felt compelled to correct her, even though her summation was quite accurate. It simply did not sit well with him to hear someone disparaging Professor Snape. Nevertheless, he thought, looking about the room, it was actually oddly humorous to watch his fellow classmates come up with theories relating to the man's behaviour. They were quickly becoming ludicrous. The humour ended abruptly though when he realised that this was exactly what they had done to him the previous year. His mood considerably sobered, the Gryffindor fished out his Potions textbook and set about doing the required reading.

Eventually, the students grew bored of the topic and talk shifted to how their vacations had been spent. Regardless, Harry was certain that the matter would recapture their attention come the next potions class. In a way, he acknowledged as he followed the others out of the classroom, he would have been perplexed as well had he not spent the summer holidays with the man. His 'new' teaching method was familiar to him, although, he readily admitted, Professor Snape had been considerably nicer in their private lessons. His classmates would simply have to get used to it with time, he rationalised. He fully expected the man's 'improved' behaviour to continue. Harry knew enough about the man to understand that nothing he did was uncalculated. The altered teaching style was premeditated, and, although he did not know what had brought about a change from his normal behaviour, Harry was certain that the change was here to stay.

He entered the Transfigurations classroom, and, this time, hesitated only slightly before seating himself on Neville's right. He had been uncertain as to where to sit when he had reached the Charms room, among the last to arrive because of his conversation with the potions master. He had been prepared to head toward the back when Neville beckoned him over. This time, he felt confident enough to follow them without invitation, and claimed the seat. He ducked his head slightly when Neville gave him a smile that could only be considered an approving one before tensing slightly as he searched the classroom for their professor.

He had overhead a conversation between some older students once, and he knew that the witch always transfigured herself the first day of classes. Personally, he believed that it was her way of motivating her students to reach her level. Nevertheless, he had been both relieved and disappointed when they had not learned to transfigure themselves into cats. He doubted he would have managed it last year; however, it would have been nice to try it at least. Her disguise was not as blatant as a cat this time around, he noted, wondering if he should give up on the enterprise.

"Aren't you going to get your stuff, Harry?" Neville inquired, distracting him from his perusal. "You know how Professor McGonagall gets. . ."

"Y-yes," he responded quickly, doing as the blonde had suggested.

His lack of wand was not too blatant, he thought with relief, glancing at the other tables. After two non-practical classes thus far, most had thought it prudent to leave their wands in their bags. That would not last for long though. The students had been right, he noted moments later when the witch suddenly materialised in her seat. He was not positive she had actually been transfigured; nevertheless, the shock factor was quite impressive and all the grumbles from around the room abruptly ended.

The witch was a strict, no nonsense woman, and her class ran accordingly. It was as if she had sensed that the Charms Professor had given them an easy lesson, as by the end of the theoretical aspect of the lesson, they already had two chapters and a ten-inch essay to write. Harry found himself extremely grateful now that his guardians had given him a schedule during the holidays. Otherwise, he was certain that he would have been as panicked as the majority of the Gryffindors seemed to be at the task. Across the room, the Slytherins seemed nonchalant about the workload. But then again, he reminded himself, they always put on a 'public' persona, if the potions master was to be believed. Maybe they would grumble and sigh in the privacy of their quarters later on.

A moment later, Harry's contemplation on the Slytherins ended, and he felt as if butterflies were in his stomach. For his Head of House had said the words he had been dreading. They would start on the practical portion of the class now, which meant that all would see that he did not need a wand. He was not looking forward to this.

The headmaster had hugged him and reassured him that it would not be too difficult while the potions master had given him a five-minute lecture on how best to deal with the situation. However, as Harry looked down at the pincushion he was supposed to be transfiguring into a porcupine, none of their words registered to him. All that he could think of was that in a few short minutes, all eyes would be trained on him. There was no way of avoiding that. The Transfigurations teacher always drew attention to a student's work, either as an example for the rest of the class to avoid, or to point out something particularly innovative about their work. Somehow, Harry doubted that she would pass up the opportunity to single him out, if only to point out his technique.

"Where's your wand?" Neville whispered.

"It's home," Harry responded honestly, his eyes not lifting away from the pincushion before him. He hadn't really thought before speaking, and thus was startled by the horrified gasp the blonde emitted beside him. Luckily, he was not loud enough to draw attention from anyone besides Hermione, but to Harry, it was a sign of things to come.

"What?" Hermione asked, looking away from her own object. She was already done, and, while waiting for the Professor to reach their table, had taken to trying to animate the object based on what she had read during the holidays.

"Harry left his wand home," Neville told her.

"How could you be so careless?" she scolded, although her eyes bore a tinge of Neville's concern as well.

"I forgot mine as well," Neville interjected, "but Gran remembered to ask before we reached the station so we could go back for it."

"But still," the witch frowned, "that's very irresponsible Harry. You're going to get into so much trouble!"

The two were conversing too quickly for Harry to interject with the truth, but he wished that Neville had not noticed. Although whispering, their continued conversation was quickly becoming noticeable to the surrounding students; however, he was not too sure how best to point that out to them. As it turned out, he did not have to, for, being drawn by the chatter, Professor McGonagall bypassed a few tables to head in their direction, mistaking the nature of their conversation.

"What is going on here?" she asked sternly as she reached the edge of the desk while glancing to Harry's workstation.

A flicker of surprise crossed the teacher's face as she noticed Potter's untransfigured object. She had been certain that it was the cause of the disruption. "Why haven't you attempted the transfiguration yet, Mr. Potter?" she inquired, ignoring the other two students for the moment.

Harry stifled a groan as the woman's piercing gaze met his. If only they weren't so loud, he'd have had at least another few minutes before her attention had turned to him. As it was, the entire class was now looking toward their table with either sympathy or mirth for the students who would undoubtedly be receiving a sound scolding for daring to talk in the stern witch's classroom.

"I-I," Harry stammered, wringing his hands beneath his desk.

There really was no good explanation to offer, not that the witch was the kind to accept excuses in the first place.

"Harry's forgotten his wand, Professor," Hermione explained after a moment, when Harry seemed unable to continue.

While glad for the assistance, the twelve year old's heart fell slightly at her erroneous statement. The professor was bound to correct her.

"His wand?" Professor McGonagall repeated slowly, a look of confusion on her face.

"Yes, Pr-"

"Mr. Potter no longer requires a wand," she informed Hermione, and Harry barely resisted a cringe at the sudden silence that befell the room. "Why should it matter where he's left it?" she continued rhetorically. "However, that does not answer my initial question, Mr. Potter, why have you not attempted the transfiguration?"

Harry was unable to keep the woman's gaze, and looked down toward the table. "M'sorry," he mumbled.

"You will attempt the spell now, Mr. Potter," the witch informed him, and, after he made no move after a moment, her ruler cracked down on the edge of the desk, startling not only him but a few others. "I will have none of this, Mr. Potter," she warned.

Harry honestly did not know what to do. This situation was more than he expected. All eyes were trained on him; he did not need to glance around to see that. What if he failed to transfigure it because of nervousness? He'd become the laughing stock of the school because the class would definitely relate the story to the rest of the school...

The twelve year old blinked as a leg nudged his slightly, and, glancing sideways, he saw Neville looking at him. Well, that was not entirely unexpected given the situation, but rather than wearing a curious expression, the blonde was offering him a reassuring smile, and, when he met his gaze, nodded slightly. For some reason that gesture did reassure him, and, smiling slightly, Harry straightened, looking at the pincushion. His hand trembled slightly as he raised it, but steadied after a moment. This was no different from what he had been doing all of his life. He could do this.

Taking a moment to visualize a porcupine, Harry waved his hand over the pincushion. For a second nothing happen, and then, shimmering, the object's shape changed until a stuffed porcupine sat before him. Surprised gasps echoed around the classroom, and Hermione actually squeaked. Nevertheless, Harry sighed with relief – he had done it. Professor McGonagall refrained from comment, but instead lifted the item, checking his accuracy. Neville nudged him again, this time mouthing "Good job". He didn't seem particularly surprised Harry noted, but the professor interrupted further thought.

"The needles aren't the right size," she commented, replacing it, "but for a first effort, it is commendable."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Perhaps you should try with the incantation," she said further, "or try mimicking the wand movements."

"My guardians said I don't need to."

"Well, I suppose they would know," she muttered softly, before turning away and glaring at the students who had actually left their seats to see Harry's work.

"Why, I never!" she scolded. "Back to your seats this instant before I take points. Really, you should know better than this..."

The rest of the woman's words were lost to Harry, but the sudden outbreak of whispers reached him. He really was not looking forward to class ending. Something told him that people would try to accost him for more information.

Beside him, a glint of determination shone in Neville's eyes. He had reached the same conclusion as the shy Gryffindor, but he was determined not to let that happen.

oOoOoO

"I wish they'd find something else to talk about," Pomona frowned, stirring her tea absently. "All I've heard of this evening was Potter this and Potter that."

"Children gossip," Minerva responded, looking up from her Daily Prophet. "It can't be helped."

"It isn't right though," she countered mildly. "Potter didn't look up once this afternoon in the greenhouse and I had to scold my Hufflepuffs after class for paying more attention to him than me."

"It's not like they've had much experience with it," Flitwick said presently, easily falling into the conversation. "Very few manage wandless magic and even then it's usually older wizards who've developed the capacity for it. I don't know many who have been exposed to it, and, although I hate to admit it, given Mr. Potter's behaviour last year, did you really expect this to go unnoticed?"

"He has brought it on himself," the Herbology teacher allowed before raising a quieting hand when Minerva looked to protest her statement. "I don't blame him for his behaviour," she explained. "However, you must admit that his personality is what has encouraged the gossip around him. Potter has always failed to reach the students' expectations.

"Remember, this lot has grown up to stories of him and his glorious actions; he broke their preconceived notions of him last year, and they ripped him apart accordingly. Now this year he returns and 'suddenly' has this skill and flips their perception of him once again. They don't know what to make of him now. Was his shyness just a front? Did he get some sort of elitist training to give him the ability? Until they get the answers they want, the gossip will continue. It's up to Potter to handle it as he will."

A long pause finished after the woman's words as they all reflected on it, taking the truth in it.

"Nevertheless," Filius said eventually. "Something must be done about it. I do agree that children should be allowed to sort out their own issues. However, Potter is at a disadvantage. One child can do little against the entire student body."

"He needs to grow a backbone, that's what," Minerva said decisively, setting aside the newspaper. "He's given them power over him, and until he chooses to take that power back, he will remain at their mercy. There is nothing we can do about it. It is not as if he is being actively insulted. Life is harsh, it's unfortunate that he's had to learn this from so young, but as is, that is the case."

"That's a hard stance to take, Minerva," Pomona stated mildly. "He is your student."

The Transfiguration Professor snorted lightly. "I honestly question whether that Hat made the right decision," she admitted, "and not only with Potter. Granger and Longbottom puzzle me at times as well. Granger is the ideal Ravenclaw and Longbottom . . . Pomona surely you agree that the boy should have been yours?"

"Numerous times," she agreed, while across from her, Filius nodded as well.

"I question the placing of others as well," she continued. "There is Slytherin's Zabini. He is much better suited for Ravenclaw in my summation, and Terry Boot would have fit perfectly in Gryffindor."

"The Hat does as it sees best," Filius stated, summoning himself a muffin from the nearby tray. "Regardless, what can be done for Potter? I have something in mind from my end, however, I want to observe him first for a bit longer."

Pomona eyed him curiously for a moment before speaking. "I do agree with Minerva that there is nothing active we can do. The novelty will wear off in a few days. Let's just hope that Potter doesn't discover some other talent to draw attention to himself once again."

"I've always taken a hands-off approach with my students," Minerva declared. "And I see no reason to do otherwise with this situation. Students are expected to have a certain level of maturity when they arrive here, and that implies that they handle their own personal issues. And let's not forget that Albus has taken in Potter. . . ."

"Sounds as if you have a problem with that," Filius gently prodded.

"I do," she admitted slowly. "A headmaster taking guardianship of a student . . . it's just not done. I am sure he could have found him a new home, but instead he takes him."

"There's nothing wrong with that."

"Morally there is," she frowned. "What happens when word gets out to the public? Many a student will cry favouritism, mark my words. The number of rules Albus has already broken. . . ."

"Oh?"

"The boy's to live with him on weekends, and Severus has him on Wednesdays. Severus. How in Merlin's name did that happen? The latter I have just been informed of. The rules clearly state that students must live in the dormitories. The only exceptions are married students and thank Merlin there have not been any of those for the last twenty odd years. It is only a matter of time before one of my students start questioning his absence from the dorms. What position will that put me in?"

"You can't exactly blame Albus," Filius replied eventually, his features drawing slightly as his mind flashed to the past.

Minerva sighed deeply. "I know," she said in a slightly weary voice. "Nevertheless, rules exist for a reason."

"I understand," Pomona nodded, "but this entire situation is complicated."

"Too complicated," Minerva corrected, reaching for the teapot. "And something tells me things will just get worst before they improve."

"Filius?" Pomona inquired a minute later, looking toward the suddenly quiet man. He was thinking, she knew. He always got that slightly far away look in his eyes when deep in thought, and his fingers drummed softly as they were doing now.

"Minerva," he said slowly, turning toward her with a thoughtful gaze. "I think you're making the same error I have."

"Error?" she repeated blankly.

"Yes. You're putting the blame entirely on Potter for the students' reaction to him."

"I am," she confirmed. "If only he'd act differe – "

"How?" he interrupted. "How exactly can you, can we expect him to act differently given the circumstances?"

"Filius-"

"Let me explain," he bid. "You have a muggle raised child entering Hogwarts, a famous one at that. Said child, while intelligent, struggles in classes because we didn't think to check his magical capabilities. He-"

"Now that isn't fair!" Minerva declared. "How were we to know?"

"You of all people should have realized," he said. "He, after all, is your student."

"I've already said-"

"That you take a hands-off approach. I get that, Minerva, and I'm not condemning you for it."

"Then what is your point?"

"My point is that you should have met with him, inquire to his issues..."

"How was I supposed to know that he didn't need a wand? I thought, we all thought that he wasn't capable of magic. I recall you calling him a near squib once."

"I did," the Charms Professor acknowledged. "It is something I regret."

"Then don't put the blame on me for this! How was I supposed to know? He didn't come to me for help. He should have said something."

"You're contradicting yourself," a previously silent Pomona stated. "How can you expect him to come to you when you've already admitted to not being there for your lions? It doesn't make you exactly accessible to him now does it?"

"Thank you, Pomona," Filius said gratefully. "I don't know why Potter never told any of his teachers about his wandless abilities, but we should have suspected at the very least."

"You do have a point," the Herbology Professor agreed. "However, Minerva does have one as well. Yes, we should have looked further into it, but he should have said something as well. Can we simply agree to that? Talking about the past does nothing to change it. We can only learn from our errors and move on."

"Ever the peace maker," Filius chuckled ruefully, even as he nodded.

Across from him, Minerva nodded reluctantly, although it was clear to all that what her colleagues had said did not please her.

"So tell me," Pomona bid, determined to change the conversation to more pleasant matters, "what is the consensus with the new students?"

Gratefully the other two latched on to the topic and the conversation surrounding Harry Potter was closed – for now.


	27. Chapter 27

Harry was far from strategic. Consequently, while the Transfigurations Professor concluded the class activities for the day with a recap of the lesson and general comments, he sat there in mild panic. Despite the scolding of the teacher, he could still feel the curious glances from his classmates.

He knew them by now.

Once class ended, they would surround him; he did not see anyway around it and he was not looking forward to having all of their attention trained on to him. His hand clenched against his quill in his agitation, and, unknowingly, an increasing worried expression grew on his face. It was easily discernable to Neville who was discretely observing him.

The preteen's eyes softened with sympathy. He, like Harry, envisioned the boy being mobbed once class ended, and he doubted that their Professor would do anything to stop it. He really did not want the inevitable to happen. Even though it was less than a day since he had started actively pursuing a friendship with Harry, he already was protective of him. Over the course of the day so far, the preteen had gradually lowered his guard around them – well him.

Hermione had a long way to go, he noted. Unlike him, the witch had spurned him the year before, forming a negative relationship with him. Harry seemed well aware of that fact and thus was justifiably hesitant around her. Also, he thought, looking across at her, it really wouldn't help her case if she continued observing the boy as if he was a specimen to be dissected. Harry was a lot more perceptive than people thought. He would surely notice that.

Nevertheless, the chubby wizard knew instinctively that if Harry was accosted, he would close off himself completely, and that was not something he wanted to see. But, how could he prevent the others from harassing him? Soft rustling from around the room disrupted his musing, and, glancing around, he saw that their professor had ordered them to read for the rest of the time. Harry was diligently staring at his desk, lost in his worry no doubt. Seriously, he needed to help him.

It took him a good minute or so, but he finally came up with a possible solution. Hermione would have to help though, but the consequences of it would be far from pleasant. He was certain she would agree though, if only for Harry's sake. Not to startle the wizard between them, Neville quickly scribbled his plan on a bit of parchment, passing it over to her. The witch took it with a slight frown, arching an eyebrow at him after she read it. She hadn't realised what he did, but aware now, a look of concern entered her own expression.

She nodded, crumpling the note.

Her immediate agreement impressed Neville. She really was determined to make amends with Harry if she was willing to open herself up to ridicule.

The witch rose, and headed toward McGonagall's desk. Turning to Harry, the blonde gently nudged him, frowning minutely as his classmate jumped. That reaction seemed extreme, he noted, before whispering to him, "Pack up."

Harry stared at him in confusion for a long moment. Nevertheless, when Neville repeated himself, he heeded him. Hurriedly, Neville copied his actions, packing his bag more haphazardly.

"We're going to make a break for it," Neville murmured, shouldering the bag.

"A break?" Harry repeated softly, copying his movements.

"Hermione's going to help," he continued, gesturing to the witch talking avidly to the teacher at the desk.

"I don't understand," Harry began. "What ar-"

Before he could finish, the chime signalling lunch sounded, and Neville raised a stilling hand to him. Come on, Hermione, he thought desperately, it's now or never. The plan wouldn't work unless the witch convinced the teacher to – success!

As he had hoped, the professor stood just as the first students started rising. "As Miss Granger has pointed out to me," she began, smiling slightly at the bushy haired witch, "The essay hardly allows for any in depth analysis regarding the importance of wand movements to the transfiguration process. For that, I've decided to lengthen the essay to fifteen inches."

There was a collective groan before all eyes turned to Hermione. That was exactly what Neville was waiting for. He rose quickly, tugging a perplexed Harry after him. As people started muttering none to softly about the witch, they managed to escape the classroom. He knew what would happen next. The Professor would hear the murmurs and start scolding them for insulting Hermione's enthusiasm for learning. That would buy them at least three minutes, he gauged.

"This way, Harry," he urged, walking swiftly toward an unused classroom he had made use of in the past school year.

He was glad the preteen trusted him enough to follow as he closed the door behind them. It was slightly cowardly he acknowledged, crossing to a desk and depositing his bag on it. Running away would not help with the problem ultimately, but for now, Harry needed some time alone before he had to deal with the rest of the student body.

"We'll be fine here," he said reassuringly, offering him some comfort.

*

Harry truly did not know what to make of the entire situation. He was confused, yet grateful. The pair had gotten him out of his dilemma, and he was glad. Regardless, he wondered at their motive; but more importantly, Neville's odd reactions.

Why hadn't he seemed as surprised as the rest of the class?

Indeed, his subtle encouragement was what had given him the strength to complete the transfiguration. However, would the wizard think him ungrateful for questioning him? Harry was loathe to anger the one who had helped him so unnecessarily. Nevertheless, the potions master's words echoed in the back of his mind, reminding him that he had a right to speak out and that no one should fault him for expressing himself.

"No one will think to look for you here," Neville said presently.

"T-thank you," Harry responded, deciding that he would heed the potions master. After all, the man had not been wrong so far, he would trust him in this as well. "Neville?" he began hesitantly.

"Yes?"

"Um, I-" The preteen paused, gathering his courage. No one would take him seriously if he made himself seem weak, Professor Snape's voice reminded him. Nodding mentally, he tried again. "Why are you helping me?"

When a small frown marred the wizard's face, the twelve year old bit his lip, ready to issue an apology. Maybe he had gone about it the wrong way? Before he could though, Neville responded, his expression clearing.

"I want to," he said simply, swinging his legs slightly. "Don't you want to put down your bag? We'll stay in here until the Hall clears a bit."

Harry heeded him automatically, not even realising that he had still been holding on to his bag.

"We've both had a rough first year," Neville explained. "Over the holidays I realised that nothing would change unless I changed it. I all but gave up on the other guys, but then I realised that your year wasn't that much better than mine. I thought that if we teamed up, things could be better for the both of us."

Well, that was logical, Harry thought, recalling his own previous musings on Neville.

"There's another reason though," the blonde added, drawing Harry's attention back to him.

"What is it?" he asked, moving to sit on a chair.

A wide smile formed on the blonde's face. "My Gran told me a couple of stories about my parents' school days here," he stated.

It was only then that Harry recalled that Neville's grandmother was his caretaker. Indeed, this was the first time he had heard mention of his parents. Where were they? Or was it that Neville was an orphan like him?

"Gran never told me about their days here before," the Gryffindor continued, excitement lacing his tone. "But when I started telling her about Hogwarts, she told me a bit. Did you know our parents were friends? Well, our moms at least."

"They were?" Harry asked, surprised.

He still did not know that much about his parents. His guardian had promised to regale him with more stories of his parents' younger days; however, time had not yet permitted it. A curious expression crossed his face and he leaned forward slightly. His desire for knowledge about his parents easily overrode any shyness on his part currently.

"They were," Neville confirmed. "Gran started telling me about the history of the people I mentioned. She had a lot to say about you," he chuckled. "Our moms were really close. Our dads didn't really know each other because mine was in a higher year. Though, Gran remembers a time he wrote home that James Potter had cursed him and it took over an hour to undo it."

Harry blinked, wondering why his father would do such a thing.

"Gran said your dad was into pranks," Neville explained, seeing his expression. "She knows more about the Potter family history than your dad particularly. Your mom on the other hand... Gran was actually disappointed when I told her we weren't friends."

"Why?"

Neville grinned suddenly. "Apparently we got along great when we were younger. She expected that to continue."

"What?" Harry gasped, unable to contain the reaction. "We knew each other? I-I don't remember."

"We were really young," the blonde shrugged. "I don't either actually, but Gran has a few pictures. They're sort of embarrassing though," he admitted, flushing slightly. "One of them is of us splashing in a bath tub."

"Wow," Harry breathed, too caught up in the novelty of hearing more of his parents to care about being embarrassed. Could he access those memories, he wondered. Perhaps through Occlumency? He would ask the headmaster if it were possible; the man did plan to continue the lessons during the school term after all.

A niggling thought caught him there, and Harry pondered on it for a second. "Is that why?" he inquired, looking across at him. "Why you didn't react?"

It took the blonde a moment to get the reference, but when he did, he nodded. "Gran told me how impressed she was with your mom. Wandless magic isn't that common after all. I didn't realise that you could do it as well until McGonagall came to our table. It made sense though. You've never forgotten anything before."

"Thank you," Harry said, referring to the encouragement he had given him.

"No problem," he chuckled. "I would have been scared too. Our classmates aren't exactly subtle are they? Anyway," he continued, checking the time "It's almost twelve. The Hall shouldn't be as crowded now. Shall we head down? Hermione's probably waiting for us there."

"S-sure," Harry agreed, although in actuality it was the last thing he wanted to do.

"Got to face them sometime," Neville pointed out as he got up.

"I know," he sighed, "Doesn't mean I have to like it though."

As it turned out, they did not even make it to the Hall before Harry was spotted.

*

All four houses would soon be in the negatives if the miserable little cretins did not shut up soon, Severus thought angrily, clenching his hand around his fork. Merlin alone knew how much he hated meal times in the Great Hall. Why did he have to endure this noise? It had been bad enough when he was a student and actually had to sit amidst them. At least, he added dryly, house unity had been at an all time low then. As it currently stood, the brats actually had the gall to call to each other across the Hall; it was enough to give him a headache.

Spearing a bit of food, he resisted the urge to glare at Albus.

He had made it mandatory for staff members to attend a certain number of meals. Severus was one of the professors who took advantage of the minimum figure. Sinistra usually slept in on mornings after her midnight classes, Trelawney claimed that her sight often kept her in her tower (he personally thought she could not be bothered to leave her glorified opium den). He usually claimed to have important brewing to do, to get out of the task.

However, come this week, he planned to devote at least two meals per week to Potter, and, he knew the old man would wheedle him into joining them over the weekend. Therefore he would be attending a few more lunch meals than usual; peak hours for hooliganism. Nevertheless, what compounded his annoyance particularly today was the content of the imps' conversations – Potter.

Were it up to him, the entire lot would be hexed quiet. Those grubby little seconds years couldn't wait to spread the word of Potter's achievements, and, even now, wild theories were being espoused regarding the 'source' of his powers, or why he had deceived everyone for an entire year. Even the bloody first years seemed interested in the events. Well, he corrected, glancing toward Ravenclaw, not that strange blonde one. She was one to keep an eye on. She wore radish earrings of all things and seemed not entirely in touch with reality. The students would soon dub her crazy, he predicted. Which might not prove to be much of an insult when he actually thought about it. Many had labelled Albus as being senile – him including – yet there was no denying the absolute brilliance of the man.

Yes, the Lovegood girl was one to keep an eye on – and to keep away from Trelawney...

Severus' eyes drifted across the Hall. Unconsciously, he had been keeping an eye out for Potter, but he had yet to show up. He was not exactly sure how he felt about that. For all he knew, the boy was cowering in some part of the school, too unnerved to come to lunch. That was not entirely farfetched given how he had overheard the complaint of the Malfoy heir that he had been nowhere to be found come the end of class. His interest in the boy was concerning, and Severus was glad he had had that little talk with Potter. Nothing good could come from getting the attention of a Malfoy...he certainly would know that.

In itself, the boy's absence was worrying; especially after the talk he had given him. However, what was even more disturbing was Longbottom's absence as well. Could he be with Potter? It was highly likely given that he had spied them together earlier, but then, why was Granger here? She was part of the possible conspiracy against Potter; he would expect her to be there with them – wherever they were.

Enough of this, he decided, quickly using his napkin. He was concerned for Potter, especially now that the brats were starting to clear the Hall. Even if the boy had decided on a late lunch, he was apt to run into him along the corridors, and could gauge the boy's state for himself. As he dismissed himself and headed off the platform, he felt a gentle brush against his mental barriers. Opening it automatically, he allowed the headmaster to filter in a memory to him. Turning his head, he nodded in understanding before heading off.

Longbottom had tugged Potter from the classroom, he mused, replaying the overhead conversation Albus had been privy to. Judging from the taken path, Severus headed toward a general location in that direction, wondering if he still needed to go after Potter since he had company. But then again, he didn't trust Longbottom with him, although, he gave him credit for getting Potter away from the little cretins. At the very least, he decided, continuing on his selected path, he might find a few students misbehaving and take his first points of the year. Now wasn't that thought comforting?

Absently, he glanced into the Transfiguration classroom as he passed it, grimacing slightly. He'd rarely had pleasant experiences in that room. He had never been particularly proficient in the class; actually, it was among the first he had dropped come sixth year. If it was not for the marathon studying session he had had before the exam, he doubted he would have managed that E in it.

Now, where would he go if he was hiding? Times passed and people changed, but inevitably, habits remained the same. He had had his fair share of secret getaways during his tenure here, and given that the majority of his Transfiguration classes had been with Gryffindors, he truly had needed them.

He narrowed their location to one particular corridor that for some reason always had a room available for a student in need. He was right – well, partially so. He found his missing student in the corridor leading to the rooms, however not in an acceptable position.

Three upper years had surrounded Potter. Two were peppering him with questions while the third was all but demanding an illustration of his powers. They were not being particularly menacing; however, their actions were enough to have Potter cowering away from them. Severus bit off an oath. The boy always got unnerved when people got into his personal space without his permission or trust. Blasted brats...

Putting on his most menacing voice he stated, "Harassing students are we?"

An abrupt silence descended on the corridor, before all eyes turned to him. The upper years paled slightly upon seeing him. He had built up a reputation for himself over the years, and more than one of these had felt his wrath at some point. Discretely, he glanced toward Potter, nodding minutely to him. His temper increased slightly at the blatantly pleading look on the child's face.

"P-professor," one of them started, "we weren't harassing anyone."

"Yeah," another seconded, "We were just asking Potter a few questions. We weren't doing anything wrong."

"Oh?" he inquired darkly, arching an eyebrow. "From where I stand, Potter seemed far from pleased with your presence."

"Potter doesn't mind, sir," a redheaded witch dared, looking toward the younger wizard for validation.

And Potter would give it too, Snape thought. He'd allow them to get out of trouble simply to keep the peace. It was good that he was the one to stumble on to the situation then.

"Intimidating him on top of everything else, Miss Wells?" he asked with false cheerfulness.

"Wait, no – I wasn't, sir," she stammered, actually stepping away from Potter.

"I know what I've seen, Miss Wells, and I sincerely doubt that any of you would like a visit to the headmaster so soon in the year. After all, we all know his stance on bullying."

Taking only a second to smirk at their pallor, Severus pressed on. These teenagers were relatively popular in their own way – at least among their year. Perhaps he could take the opportunity to instill reason into them.

"Have you nothing better to do than harass a lower classman?" he drawled.

"W-we were just curious about the rumours, sir," she said softly. "We wanted to know if it were true?"

"And that makes everything perfectly understandable?" he asked snidely.

"We have a right to know," another dared, earning himself a glare from the potions master.

"A right to know, Mr. Peters?" he repeated. "And just what pray tell gives you the right to accost someone? So the next time you actually manage not to blow up a potion, should the school hound you down for proof? For indeed, it would be a miracle."

Severus paused a moment to let the insinuation hit. Hopeful the little menaces got it. He couldn't go into too much more detail without risking losing his image. He was not the voice of reason – he scared people into obedience. Regardless, Potter was still looking too shaken to suit him. He needed to speak with him now; these brats had taken enough of his time.

"Now, no matter how riveting this conversation is," he stated with obvious sarcasm, "I have better things to do. I think that it'll be twenty points each for bullying and I suggest you get out of my sight before I decide Filch needs some help tonight."

Well, he rationalized as the trio fled, if his words did not sink in, at least word would spread of their punishment. Potter was not to be harassed, especially if he was near.

As he expected, the corridor cleared within seconds, leaving him alone with Potter.

The preteen nodded hesitantly, but he looked far from at peace. Sighing, the older wizard closed the distance between them, arching a questioning eyebrow at the boy. Potter looked up at him for a long moment before he reached out. Severus hesitated only slightly before he pulled the boy forward, allowing him to wrap his arms around him. Reaching down, he rest his hand soothingly on his hair.

"There there, Potter," he said softly, "I've got you, you're fine."

The boy pulled away slightly, looking up at him. "It's too hard," he told him. "I can't do this."

"It isn't," he declared, tapping his nose.

"They wouldn't leave me alone. Neville forgot his History book so he said he'd meet me in the Hall."

So Longbottom truly had been with him, the potions master noted before speaking.

"It's not too hard," he assured him. "Difficult, yes, but not undoable. You were at a disadvantage here, outnumbered. I don't expect miracles from you immediately, just try your best."

The boy lowered his gaze, and Severus felt his hands clenching in his robes. He patted the top of his head comfortingly.

"I think I've made a friend," the boy told him softly, looking up at him again. "Neville's really nice, sir."

"Good," he said simply, keeping his tone neutral. He wouldn't allow his own musings to colour the boy's experience. "Have you eaten?"

"We were on our way to the Hall."

"You'll have to hurry then," Severus stated, releasing him, although he kept a hand on his shoulder. "The meal ends in less than twenty minutes and you cannot afford to miss it. The Hall will be empty by now," he added reassuringly as a wary look entered his expression. "So go on now."

"Neville..."

Before Harry could finish the sentence, they both heard a sound from around the corner. Giving his shoulder a light squeeze, Severus released him. "There he is now. Straight to the Hall and eat understood?"

"Yes, sir," Harry nodded.

"Good boy," he praised. "Have a good afternoon, and I will see you in class Wednesday."

"Yes, sir."

Giving the boy a final look, Severus turned away, leaving the corridor just as Longbottom returned to him.

*

Hermione could not believe that she had willingly made herself an object for ridicule. Nevertheless, she did not regret it in the least. Not only had Harry seemed considerably happier when the pair had finally come to the hall, he had even spoken to her and without Neville's subtle prompting. They hadn't conversed much, given that they'd had to eat quickly, but still, it was progress.

More than that, she had another opportunity to speak to him now.

Neville had left them a few minutes now. Class had ended for the day, but rather than head back to the castle immediately, they had chosen to stay on the school grounds, and reacquaint themselves with it. Eventually they had settled near the Lake, and spent long moments observing the antics of the squid as he played with a broken tree trunk, making sounds of contentment (well, at least she assumed that was what it was making). Neville didn't remain too long though. He had wanted to find Luna and make sure she was doing okay. Well, she corrected, recalling how he had squeezed her hand encouragingly before taking off, that was only partly the reason. He'd also left to give her the chance to make amends with Harry.

Hermione tucked a snarled strand of hair behind her ear as she observed him. His body was slightly stiffer than when Neville had been with them. That was understandable though, given that Neville had a calming air about him. Actually, she wished he was still here; it would help tremendously with her nervousness. A soft chuckle slipped past the witch's lips at that thought. If she was nervous, just how was Harry feeling? Well, there was only one way to find out...

"You didn't get into trouble helping me did you?"

The witch blinked. Harry's stammered question really was unexpected. "Nothing I haven't heard before," she replied, forcing a small smile on her face.

Their words had hurt actually – a lot.

Especially since the snidest remarks had come from those she had considered friends the year before. And what had compounded it all was the fact that they, despite the open insults, had tried to get her to research the work for them like the previous year. And, had Neville not assisted her during the holidays, she knew she would have said yes.

"I'm glad," Harry said, dragging her from her musings. "I wouldn't want you to get in trouble – not because of me."

"It was nothing," she stated simply, offering him a genuine smile.

"Thanks though," he mumbled, looking away.

An awkward silence descended. Both were uncertain of what to say. The witch foot twitched in agitation. She was not one to be at a loss for words; neither did she hesitate to profess her opinions. Yet it was so difficult now, which in itself was ridiculous. This was Harry; there was absolutely nothing to be nervous about. Nevertheless, while Harry himself was easy to speak with, what she had to say was not easy to voice. This conversation would be one of the hardest conversations she would ever have.

What if she screwed up?

"Can we talk?" she spit out, throwing caution to the wind.

A moment later a flush graced her face at the odd look Harry shot her. She had spoken way too loud. She'd already made a fool of herself with that abrupt remark – even Harry seemed to think so for brief amusement shone in his eyes.

"Okay."

"It's important."

"Neville said that," he told her. "I promised to listen."

"Thank you, Neville," she thought, before speaking. "I owe you an apology, Harry."

Her words seemed the last thing he expected to hear. The boy blinked owlishly at her.

"A-apologize?" he repeated. "For what?"

He didn't even know. She would have thought it would be obvious?

"I ignored you last year," she explained. "I shouldn't have. I'm sorry."

"Oh..." he murmured, brows furrowing.

After a moment it occurred to her that he didn't see a problem with her actions. The realization saddened her. He didn't seem particularly concerned with her apology; truly he appeared perplexed over why she was apologizing in the first place.

"You did not deserve that," she stated, trying to make him understand. "It was wrong of me."

"I'm used to it," he replied eventually, unconsciously repeating her earlier words. "It's nothing really."

As he spoke, the preteen turned toward the lake, pulling his legs up to wrap his arms around them.

"It is something," Hermione said earnestly, feeling her purpose shifting.

No longer did apologies seem the most important thing. What concerned her now was correcting his opinion. What was the point of apologizing if he did not feel she had wronged him?

"I shouldn't have tossed you aside, Harry. You didn't deserve that."

"There are a lot of things I've been told I don't deserve," the boy murmured softly.

Hermione stared at him, unsure of if she was meant to hear his words. She did not think so given that his gaze was still set on the Lake .

"I-I'm still sorry," she said tentatively, trying to draw his attention back to her. "If you don't mind, I'll like for us to be friends."

The boy's head whipped toward her, an expression of surprise on his face. "Friends?" he repeated. "You want to be friends with me?"

"I do," she nodded. "If you want that is?"

Hermione had to remind herself to breathe as she observed him. His expression shifted slowly, moving from surprised to contemplative to...hopeful? The last confused her, since she was the one asking after all. Nevertheless, the boy's emerald gaze rose to met hers, and he nipped lightly at his lip before speaking.

"You really want to be friends?" he asked. "With me?"

There was a hint of trepidation there alongside the hopefulness, almost as if he expected her to renege on her offer. As if she would. From their brief conversation, her original summation had been reaffirmed. They were similar in so many ways and she wanted to explore that further. She wanted to get to know him, wanted to unravel the mystery that was Harry Potter. There was so much more to him than what met the eye – the very least of that was his wandless capability (something she was dying to learn more about, and hoped to ask about another time). She wanted to experience it all if he gave her the leeway to do so.

"I do," she said earnestly. "I really do, Harry."

"O-okay then," he agreed, a smile playing at his lips. "If you're sure, I want to be friends."

"I am," she said happily, silently thanking her lucky stars that he'd agreed.

Things were looking up this year, she decided, beaming at him. She could only hope that things would continue to improve for them both.


	28. Chapter 28

"How are you holding up?" Neville inquired, taking a seat.

"I'm almost done with my draft for Charms," she responded immediately, looking up from the parchment. "Do you think Professor Flitwick will mind if I go over the limit?"

"Only Professor Snape would," the preteen mused as he started rifling through his belongings. "I haven't started that one yet, but I've finished Herbology."

"Do you want me to check it for you?" she offered. "This can wait."

"If you don't mind," Neville replied. "My grammar still needs some improving..."

"I'll be glad to help," she beamed, capping her inkwell and reaching for the essay. "I thought you were with Luna though."

"I was," he explained, opening his Charms textbook. "But we did some work as well."

"That's good," she praised. "You should be able to relax and work at the same time."

"Isn't that contradictory?" he teased.

The witch rolled her eyes slightly at the jib but chuckled along with him. Minutes later, she returned the parchment to him with slight alterations.

"You've really improved, Neville. There wasn't a weak argument in there."

"Just weak spelling and grammar?" he quipped.

"A little bit," she agreed, "but you've improved a lot."

"Thanks," he said, flushing slightly. "But Herbology is my best subject. I doubt my other assignments can be as good as this."

"It will be if you try your best."

"I will."

"Where's Harry by the way?" he asked. "Napping again?"

Their friend tired easily in the afternoon, and, for the past few days, he'd taken to sleeping for an hour or so before dinner. It was a left over from the holiday period, he explained. He'd grown accustomed to resting after lunch, and, resultantly, he grew increasingly tired as the day progressed. Hermione was the one who first suggested he take a short rest after he had nearly fallen asleep beside her at the lake. The witch estimated that it'd take him another few days to fully acclimatise himself to the school routine once again, but until then he rested as it suited him.

"He's probably hiding somewhere," Hermione sighed, twirling her quill absently.

"What?"

"Ron cornered us near the library," she explained. "Who knows what he was doing there in the first place. He started asking Harry questions about his magic. It's irritating."

"It's not like you weren't curious as well," he pointed out mildly.

The witch nodded in acceptance. "I researched it though instead of harassing him about it. He really doesn't seem comfortable talking about it."

"It's another way he's different," Neville shrugged. "I doubt I'd like all that attention on me."

"I know," she agreed. "Anyway, he started acting all chummy with Harry, and it bothered him, especially when Ron tried flinging an arm around his shoulders. It was as if they were best mates. Harry tried answering a bit at first. However, when Ron started trying to touch him, he shied away. Ron didn't even seem to notice that. He invited Harry to join him and the other guys to show them what else he could do."

"He doesn't even like Harry," Neville frowned. "They called us losers the very first night back."

"I think Harry considered him a friend. I'm not positive, but, you could see the wariness in Harry's eyes, as if Ron had acted like that before. I don't think he knew what to make of it actually."

"He isn't stupid," Neville said. "But Weasley must be if he'd thought Harry would fall for that. I mean, that wasn't exactly subtle."

"But that worries me," she revealed, leaning back slightly. "What if Harry thinks I'm the same as Ron?"

"I don't follow," the blonde said honestly.

"Think about it, Neville," she bid him. "Technically I didn't apologise to Harry until afterwards. What if he starts thinking that it's just a ruse? I mean, I didn't treat him any better than Ron did. At least you started talking to him since the first day. He trusts you."

"He'll trust you too, Hermione," Neville said reassuringly, although he could understand the witch's fear. "It sounds to me that he saw through Ron's actions; he'd have known if you weren't being genuine."

"But what if others try it?" she asked. "What if other people try befriending him for the wrong reasons? He might say yes; I mean, I did."

"You did," Neville said after a moment, "But eventually you realised the truth..."

"I wouldn't have without you."

"That's okay. We're his friends, we can watch out for him. If he can't tell who's genuinely interested in him, we'll be there to help him – if he'd let us."

"I hope he will," she murmured.

There was a brief pause before Neville spoke. "What did Harry do about Ron though?"

"He said no. It was hard though, I could see that. And Ron wouldn't listen at first. He tried tugging Harry along, but Harry pulled away. I think Ron was surprised – Harry as well actually. However, he told him he didn't want to go anywhere with him."

"Ron wouldn't have taken that well," Neville mused.

"He didn't," she confirmed. "But before he could say anything, Professor Flitwick came down the corridor and called Harry to help him with something. I haven't seen him since. Besides that, I think he wants to be alone for a bit. He'll show up for dinner I expect."

"He will," Neville agreed.

However, dinnertime came and went and there was still no sign of Harry.

"Maybe he ate in the kitchens," Neville offered as they snagged chairs near the fireplace. "I've heard that people do that sometimes."

"Where are the kitchens?"

"No clue actually," he shrugged. "But Harry's always wandering; I won't be surprised if he knew where to find it."

"He might..."

The two settled into a casual conversation, however, every time the portrait swung open, their eyes went instinctively to it, hoping to spy Harry entering. However, he didn't show up, even when curfew started.

"Where is he?" Hermione asked worriedly. "Oh, he's going to be in so much trouble if he's caught!"

Neville didn't try reassuring her this time, for he too was concerned. Where was his friend? Had what happened earlier disturbed him, or did some other students accost him again? "Let's go look for him," he decided, standing up.

"But it's after curfew," Hermione protested, even as she rose. "We'll get into trouble."

"So you want to just wait here?"

"No, I'm worried. But I don't want to get into trouble either. Let's tell someone he's missing."

"But then he'll definitely get detention," the blonde argued softly. "Or lose points. We won't take too long to find him and then we'll hurry back. It's not like McGonagall is going to do a headcount, and the prefects could care less."

"Well, that is true," she acknowledged.

"Shall we go then?"

She paused for a moment before nodding. As much as she loathed getting into trouble, her concern for Harry was more important. Besides, they wouldn't be the first students to ever sneak around after curfew, and they certainly wouldn't be the last. At least, they had a genuine reason to be out, and she comforted herself with that fact.

*

"I was expecting you at five, Potter," Snape stated as he looked up from his desk.

Harry hesitated at the door, uncertain. "Should I come back then?" he offered.

The man eyed him critically. While the boy seemed willing to leave, there was a slight edge of pleading to his tone. Pausing only momentarily, the professor shook his head, gesturing him vaguely into the room.

"I have essays to finish marking so you'll have to amuse yourself in the interim," he warned, even as his eyes returned to a parchment.

"I've got homework," Harry reassured him, claiming a seat in the front row. "I won't disturb you."

"You never do," Snape said shortly, sparing him a glance.

Harry offered him a small smile at that before quietly organising his textbooks. He was glad that he could stay down here with him. That altercation with Ron had been...jarring to say the least and he preferred not to dwell on it. As he opened the History book a small amount of elation crept into him. He had stood up for himself somewhat – he was proud of that. But it bothered him to say no in the first place. He remembered how much he'd wanted the redhead's friendship this time last year, but, earlier today, it had not felt right. There had been a gleam in his eye, one he recalled from Dudley whenever his cousin received another present. It was calculative, as if he was gauging the worth of what he was observing. And Ron had directed that look on to him. He had had no choice but to refuse him then. Maybe with time the redhead would change, but for now, it was clear that he could have nothing to do with him.

Harry twirled his quill thoughtfully as he forced himself to focus on the work before him. The ghostly professor was as boring as ever. Even though he usually used the period wisely, reading independently of the man, he simply could not bring himself to do so today. However, he would not allow himself to fall behind on the very first day and so he worked assiduously to make up for the lost ground. For the next half an hour, the preteen forced himself to concentrate on the reasons behind the very first Goblin War. The information was interesting enough; however, he tended to hear the man's drones every time he read a sentence – a drone that inspired only boredom and lethargy. Several times Harry felt his attention waver, and finally, after re-reading the same line a third time, he gave a silent sigh while resisting the urge to yawn.

"Tired?" Snape asked from his desk, "or bored?"

"Both," Harry admitted sheepishly.

The man knew him well enough by now to gauge his moods, there was no use denying anything.

"You've been taking your potions?"

"Yes sir," Harry responded swiftly, grimacing slightly at the memory of the taste. "It's been a long day..."

"And Albus has coddled you so much over the summer you aren't used to being up for hours on end," he deduced. "Silly man."

Harry ducked his head to stifle a chuckle. Should he point out the fact that it was he, and not the headmaster, who had arranged his summer schedule in the first place? He decided against it. The potions master loved grumbling about the headmaster, who was he to cut short his amusement?

"I'll have a potion sent to you at lunch to compensate. Oh, don't grimace so," he chided, "it's got a mint base."

"Yes sir," the preteen responded, knowing that the matter was decided anyway. "Are you finished with your papers?"

"No," the man stated, poking at one with obvious disdain. "However, I am one step from assigning negative marks. More than that, you were disturbing me."

"I wasn't!" Harry protested. "I haven't made a sound."

"You breathe loudly," the man deadpanned. "Moreover, I could feel the waves of boredom radiating off you."

Harry blinked at the man's statement. The man couldn't be serious. He observed him, and, after a moment saw the barest hint of a twitch of the man's lips. "You're teasing!" he gasped.

The man actually chuckled at his tone. "Perhaps," he agreed, "although I was serious about the marking part. I can't bear to look at these essays currently. I'll continue tonight."

"Oh...okay." Harry glanced at the time; it was a little over four o'clock now. Should he leave and return at the appointed hour? Before he could decide, the man rose and made his way over to his table.

Easily, he plucked the history book from Harry's fingers, perusing the pages. "You should try following along with the text as he teaches, Potter," he lectured. "That way the information won't seem as alien to you later on. Also, remind me to teach you the spell for removing ink stains."

"Okay, sir."

"You should continue drawing those timelines I showed you. It was useful to me at any rate."

"I will."

"Good," he stated, returning the book to him. "Now why don't you pack up for now? I arranged a schedule for your evening and homework is not technically carded for another hour or so. I want to show you my office."

"Office, sir?" Harry repeated, even as he heeded him.

"Yes. Every professor has a personal office in addition to his or her classroom and personal quarters. I never got around to showing you either so I asked you to meet me here instead. We'll head to the office first so you'll know where to find me next time, and afterwards, we'll go to my quarters."

Harry titled his head slightly as he looked up at the man. Wasn't that a little too much for a vocabulary lesson? Was a wizarding version that different from a muggle one? The preteen drew to mind past experiences. He'd honestly expected a list of words and meanings followed by a quizz later on.

He gave a mental shrug, supposing that his questions would be answered soon enough. The Professor took the bag from him before he could don it and placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Come along," he bid, exerting gentle pressure to guide him.

The man's office wasn't too far away, Harry noted a minute later as they stood before a rather nondescript wall. It was on the same floor as the classroom, only a few corridors down. The air was a little more chilly though, and, as they had walked here, they had passed a few students, all of them notably Slytherin. Perhaps their House Quarters were near here, Harry mused. It would make sense given the direction they came to the Great Hall from.

"My students usually have to knock and await entrance," the man said presently, drawing his attention to him. "However, I will key you into my wards. Place your hand here," he gestured, pointing to a block slightly above Harry's chin.

"Just like home?"

"Without the tickling sensation," Severus stated dryly. "The old man knew I would hex him nine yards to hell had he included that into the design."

Chuckling softly, Harry obeyed, and after a moment, felt a slight shift that indicated that he had acceptance to the rooms.

"My office doors are always open to you," Severus continued as the bricks receded to reveal an entrance. "You are to come to me whenever necessary."

"What if you're busy, sir?" Harry inquired, allowing himself to be propelled into the room.

"Where possible, I will make time for you. If not, much as earlier, you'll have to amuse yourself for a few minutes. If I am in a meeting with someone, the entrance will automatically redirect you to a small waiting room until I can come to you. Understand?"

"Yes sir."

"Good, now satisfy your curiosity here before I take you to my quarters."

Harry flushed slightly at the comment. He thought he was being discrete in his perusal of the room, but he should have known better. The professor always saw everything. The room wasn't too different from the areas he frequented at home. Dark, earthy colours abounded, and there was a faint scent of spices in the air, as if he had some herbs secreted away in corners of the room.

"You don't have much books here," the twelve year old noted with mild surprise.

Indeed, there were only two rows of books against the far wall, and, at a glance, it seemed only to contain magazines.

"I prefer to read in my quarters," he explained, "and so the majority of my books are there. However, your guardian occasionally tends to 'borrow' some of my volumes and I have to go seek them back."

Harry laughed openly at that, earning him a quick ruffle from the potions master who was striving vainly to keep the amusement out of his voice. The headmaster's antics really were amusing sometimes, he acknowledged as he guided the boy from the room and down to a lower floor. The old man really was nothing but an overgrown child on occasion, and an amusing one at that.

"He can get into the wards as well then?"

"He's the headmaster, child, he can access anywhere in the castle should he choose do."

"But did you give him permission to enter?" Harry asked shrewdly.

'Smart child', Severus thought before saying, "I did eventually. Albus tends to get whatever he wants. Sometimes it is easier just to give into him."

Harry chuckled lightly at the sentiment. Severus gave him another minute to look around the room before he guided him from the room and to the entrance of his personal quarters.

"I tend to floo back and forth between my office and quarters. However, I'll show you the proper route in case you choose to seek me there. The same rules apply there as here. The wards will let you in at any time you feel the need to come down here."

Even as Harry nodded, taking note of the part they were taking, the boy felt his confusion return again. This really did seem too much information for a mere vocabulary lesson. A few minutes later, Harry was looking around him curiously. The room was large and the different areas within it were separated solely by furniture. The transition from kitchen to dining room to living room was smooth and organised, just like the person they belonged to. Harry looked up when warm hands settled on his shoulders, but the Professor was only taking his school robes from him.

"I'll make tea in a bit," he said, walking across the room. "For now, follow me."

Harry obeyed, and soon stood by the man beside the first of many doors, that he only now noticed littered the room.

"The first is my bedroom," he explained, gesturing to it with a flick of his hand. "The same rules as Cottage House apply. The second is the bathroom, we'll have to share but that won't be much of an issue."

The twelve year old nodded his understanding, even as he felt a dawning realisation. Suddenly, the entire situation seemed to make more sense. However, dare he hope...

"Over there," Snape stated, dragging him from his thoughts, "Are my study and den. You may make use of either as needed."

The boy spared a glance to the opposite side of the room where the doors laid. However, his attention now was firmly set on the door directly before him, the one that Snape had his hand on for the past minute or so. Everything his professor had done in the past half an hour or so vaguely reminded him of his initial day at Cottage House. But did that mean – was the room before him what he thought it was?

"And here," Snape said finally, "is your room."

As he spoke the words the man opened the door, revealing a bedroom that, save the colour, was a smaller version of his bedroom at Cottage House. However, the room itself did not matter to the boy at this exact moment. The significance of it did.

"Well, Potter?" the man inquired, perplexed by the lack of response from the boy.

Had he gauged wrong? He'd thought his relationship with the boy had deepened enough for such a move not to seem unprecedented. They spent enough time in each other's company that he had expected Potter to be glad to spend an evening in his company. Yet, the reaction he had expected was not what he had found.

"Potter?" he said again, striving to keep his tone normal. "If you don't want the room –"

"I do!" the boy interrupted him, his face lifting to meet the man's eyes.

What Severus read from the boy's eyes relieved his anxiety. There was no uncertainty in Potter's expression. There was the happiness he had hoped to see, tinged with something more deeply rooted that he chose not to dwell on currently.

"I can stay here?"

"On these nights yes," Severus confirmed, a smile forming on his own lips as the boy's expression grew even more radiant.

"Brilliant!" he stated.

Severus braced himself as the boy leaned forward suddenly. He tensed slightly when thin arms circled his torso, but seconds later, he returned the embrace, squeezing gently.

"Thank you, sir," came a muffled voice from his robes.

"Your welcome, child," Severus replied sincerely, "now shall we take a look inside?"

*

"Ready for bed, Potter?" the potions master asked, looking up from his newspaper as he heard a soft sound.

He had sent the boy off to the bathroom a few minutes earlier to prepare for the night while he relaxed for a few minutes. Having a child in his quarters was a new experience yes, but Severus had to admit that he quite liked it. Watching him seated at the dining table, nibbling absently on the edge of his quill while figuring something out, ruffling his hair as he passed him occasionally while fetching an item for their dinner, or having him lean against the arm of his chair, waiting anxiously for commentary on his essays, it made him feel rather paternal.

In another life, Potter could have been his son, he supposed, and he would have had twelve years of such experiences with him. As is, he was grateful for the moments he had now. Potter was the child he'd never had the opportunity to have – and well, that could change in the future, but Severus seriously doubted that there was any witch out there who would want a man like him, especially with his history. A slightly bitter smile tilted at his lips, but he forced them away when Potter crossed the room to him, a concerned expression on his face.

He was too good at gauging emotions sometimes, Severus thought ruefully, patting the arm of the chair in invitation. The boy tilted his head for a moment, uncertain, but when he repeated the action, he obeyed, sitting on the arm of the chair cautiously. Severus grasped his legs gently, eliciting a small squeak from the boy as he twisted him so that the appendages rested on his lap.

"Did you have a good evening?" he inquired, leaning his head against the back of the chair.

"I-I did," Harry responded, a twinkle forming in his eyes. "Thank-"

"No need to thank me," Severus interrupted gently, "I enjoyed it as well. There's a few minutes left before you go to bed. You have been maintaining your bedtime?"

"Yes sir," the boy said, nodding earnestly. "Nine o'clock on the button!"

"Good, you need your rest if you are to grow."

"Neville sleeps at half nine."

"That's good to know. Now, have you finished all of your homework?" At the boy's nod he continued. "You have Astronomy at midnight after the first years. You'll have the first two periods free on Friday to compensate for the loss of sleep. I want you to nap before dinner though. I'll not have you falling asleep in her class, now any others you might have the subsequent day."

"I won't," Harry promised slowly. Looking at him, Severus could see that he was quickly becoming drowsy.

"As it happened last year, the elves will have breakfast platters in the common room and will wake any student who's still asleep midway through second period. Therefore, do not feel pressed to make breakfast in the Hall, but ensure that you do eat. I will know if you haven't."

"Yes, sir," Harry agreed, before yawning softly.

"Off to bed then," the man bid, patting his back gently. "I'll not have you use me for a pillow."

Drowsily, the boy rose, and Severus followed. The man stood by the doorway until Potter had laid down and pulled the blankets over himself.

"I'm only a door down, if you need me," he reminded. "Have a good night's rest and I will see you in the morning."

"Good night, sir," was the drowsy response as the preteen turned away from him.

"Good night, child," he returned before dimming the lights in the room.

He closed the door quietly behind him before resting against it, looking around his quarters. His eyes settled on the floo, as it had done numerous times during the evening. Was the old man seriously not planning on coming through?

Severus mused on the thought as he walked around the room, straightening things out. He honestly had expected Albus to come over sometime over the evening, he'd even made extra dinner to that effect. It was so in character for the old man to do so, popping in to 'check' on them, before finding a reason to stay. But he hadn't come – had not even sent Fawkes over with a 'message' that would enable him to get feedback on how they were getting along. It was strange.

And Severus did not like strange.

Not one bit.

How dare the man break their routine, he groused, slowly becoming annoyed. That was what the old man did – he meddled in affairs that certainly did not concern him. And he had grown used to it, so much so that the annoyance he showed was a mere farce. Now the old coot was changing up the routine, and he did not appreciate it one bit. He liked stability – revelled in it actually. He would not have the old man break that; he would not stand for it.

Almost without realising it, Severus snapped his fingers, summoning his house elf.

"Tea for two," he requested dryly, before heading to his room for an evening robe. Minutes later, he bore the tray deftly in one hand, before turning to the still present elf.

"Please keep an eye on Mr. Potter for me," he bid. "Should he need me, I am to be called."

Barely waiting for a response, he headed through the floo, noting absently that not many people would be able to manage such a feat with a tray in hand.

*

Albus was well accustomed to unplanned floo calls. It was only to be expected given the numerous positions he held mandate over. Thus, when a soft chime signalled that his floo was activating, the headmaster pasted a pleasant smile on his face, putting down his quill. That smile faltered though when he saw Severus stepping out of the floo.

Quickly, the man scanned over his activities for the past few days. Certainly, he had not 'borrowed' any of the younger wizard's books as yet. He had planned to wait until the second week at least before doing that. And he was certain it had nothing to do with Harry. His boys got along well without him present – perhaps he was wrong not to have checked up on them?

As the wizard straightened, Albus finally noticed the tray in his hand. His eyes widened in surprise – it couldn't be, could it?

"Severus?" he asked.

A glare was the wizard's only response as he crossed the room to deposit the tray on the desk, not sparing a glance to the documents he might have crushed beneath its weight.

"You can consider the cake as coming from Potter," he said gruffly, reaching for the teapot.

"What's going on, my boy?" the headmaster inquired, glancing back and forth between the man and the tray.

"I won't have you disturbing my routine," Severus ground out, placing a full cup before him.

It took a few moments before Albus caught the insinuation, but when he did, a wide smile crossed his face. "I was trying not to," he pointed out, taking a sip.

"Well it didn't work," Severus responded, sitting and nursing his own cup. "Who would have thought you would be a nuisance even if you weren't actually present?"

"It's a skill," came the teasing reply.

"Hmm."

Conversation ceased for a few minutes after that, Severus pausing to glare at Fawkes once when the phoenix dared to land on his shoulder and pester him for a bit of cake.

"I didn't know chickens liked sugar," he said dryly, gaining an angry trill from the bird.

"Will you two ever get along?" the older wizard asked in amusement.

"This is more fun," Severus said glibly, a glimmer of humour in his eyes as he glanced to the magical creature that had now returned to its perch.

"I'm surprised he hasn't taken to following Potter around," he said honestly. "He was quite insistent on trailing me those first few months."

"He did," Albus recalled, chuckling softly. It would only hit him much later that that was the first time in years he could remember Severus talking of their first year together with anything save bitterness. "He hasn't interacted much with Harry though. He is rarely here when the lad is around, and always ignores him when he is. I wonder why?"

Both men looked towards the bird, who gave them a pointed look before burying his head beneath a wing. He certainly had no plans on answering.

Severus rolled his eyes, trying not to dwell on the fact that a bird of all things had snubbed him. He would give it a lesson in superiority some other time; currently he did not feel like entertaining the man by squaring off against the phoenix.

"Severus," Albus said, drawing him from his thoughts.

"What?" he asked guardedly.

He did not like that sentimental expression in the man's eyes. Affection from Potter was one thing – the headmaster was another matter entirely.

"Thank you," Albus said sincerely. "You've certainly brightened my night."

"And you hope I do it again this weekend?"

"Well it would be nice if I don't have to coerce you."

"Like you could do that," he huffed.

"You're quite willing to accommodate Harry," he pointed out, earning himself a mild glare.

"I'll...try," he agreed eventually, barely preventing himself from rolling his eyes at the man's joyous reaction.

"Thank you, my boy," he said sincerely. "Now, tell me, how has the term treated you so far?"

"Well..."

The men remained in conversation for the next hour. When the potions master finally returned to his quarters, he stared at the yet unmarked pile of essays, unable to muster any annoyance at having not finished the task. It would set him back at least a day. However, as he prepared for bed, stopping once to peep in at Potter to ensure that he was all right, Severus felt that, no matter the lost time, that he could not have had a better night.


	29. Chapter 29

He was restless.

Extremely restless.

So restless that he knew that he could neither focus on his work, nor head to bed.

He was not entirely sure what caused his current restlessness; however, he knew Severus' unexpected visit was partly to blame. It was a rare occasion when Severus willingly sought him out, and each and every time, Albus savoured it. It had taken all of the headmaster's acting skills to hide exactly how happy his arrival had made him feel. It had been years, but finally they were making progress with their relationship. Their conversation had been perfect, not a tense word was spoken, not a single awkward moment. Albus could not have asked for a better end to his day.

And for that reason, he was loathe to let it end.

However, it was not as if he could go sauntering into Severus' quarters and demand a continuation of their evening. The wizard was perhaps busy grading papers or else had gone off to bed himself. Therefore, what did that leave for him to do?

Well, patrol of course.

He had not done it for the term thus far. In doing so, he had broken a tradition started over twenty years ago. He simply did not see the need to continue it now that he had Harry. Albus, though a sceptic of Divination (ironic then that he was Trelawney's strongest defender) certainly did believe in fate. All those years of wanderings had simply been a precursor to him meeting Harry. And now that fate had been fulfilled, he saw no more use in the walks.

Nevertheless, tonight he felt particularly enervated, and with Fawkes gone yet again, he had no one for company. Thus, he donned his glamour, and pausing only to remove the telltale robes, bid the portraits goodnight before heading out into the quiet castle.

Thankfully, he encountered few along his path – and all of them had good reason to be out after curfew. There were the prefects walking lazily up and down the halls. The seventh floor contained the Head Boy and Girl conversing lightly while they looked out on the grounds. None questioned his presence, for he had had the foresight to transfigure a prefect badge onto his chest, and, he was quite certain that none of them knew enough of the other prefects to really question his presence.

He spent the most time that night – almost an hour really - looking out from the Astronomy Tower, one level down from where Sinistra was conducting her class. Seventh years, he absently noted, rendering the roof translucent for a few moments to check. Twelve in all, the largest NEWT Astronomy class in years. Eventually the class ended, and he had the Tower for himself. He left it eventually, and, not as agitated now, decided to return to his quarters and have a final cup of tea before he headed to bed. However, feeling slightly nostalgic, he decided to retrace the footsteps he had made a year ago, and rediscover the area where he had found his ward.

He stood for long moments, looking at the spot. He smiled sadly as he recalled the struggle Harry had gave him. The then eleven year old had been so scared and hurt, and yet, had exhibited concern for his safety above his own. For a moment, Albus' mind ran to the expelled student. An aunt had bought him a place in Durmstrang. There had been some tittering by the Board of Governors over that turn of events. It undermined their and by default Britain's authority one had argued. They had broken his wand – effectively debarring him from a future in the wizarding world. It hardly seemed fair that all the former student had to do was cross the border to get that future back.

Albus had not cared then, and still did not care now. He believed in people getting second chances, and, he simply hoped that the wizard had changed his ways and set himself on a path for a better future. Some would find it ludicrous, but Albus even felt slightly indebted to the young wizard. After all, though terrible, his actions had brought Harry to him. As the saying went, there was a silver lining to every dark cloud.

"I hope Peeves isn't around here. He scares me."

"It should be safe now. Besides that, the Prefect patrol ends at eleven..."

The soft voice jolted Albus from his reminiscing. A frown formed on his face as he registered the words. A pair of lovebirds no doubt, he mused, returning from a romp in the alcoves. Occasionally, he contemplated warding the areas against such activities, but in the end never managed to do so. It might be silly, but he had had too many good times in the alcoves to deny others the opportunity. The major difference was, back in the day, those snogs had been exchanged at lunch or before dinner – not in the middle of the night.

Well, he thought, he certainly hoped that it was worth the detentions he was about to hand out.

"...Harry. We still haven't found him!"

"But we've searched everywhere Neville. I knew we should have told someone..."

As the voices came nearer, Albus blinked at the conversation. Harry? His Harry? It had to be. Even as common as the name was, no one else in the school bore it.

"We didn't want to get him into trouble, remember?"

"Well we are in trouble now, Neville. You heard Percy Weasley! The Fat Lady goes on lockdown once the last prefect enters. We'll be stuck outside!"

"Hermione –"

"Out late, are we?" Albus asked smoothly, as the pair neared him.

The two froze before paling dramatically, shock evident on their faces. Neville Longbottom and Hermione Granger, the headmaster noted, observing them. He'd seen them interacting with Harry over the past few days, and, given the little he knew of them, he had approved. Granger was a smart, diligent witch, whose academic past and non-magical background likened her to Lily Potter back in her Hogwarts days. And there was Neville, who he had interacted with a handful of times over the years. He was Frank and Alice's little boy, and seemed to share his mother's flare for Herbology and little else. His grades were average, but he was a well mannered child, who his parents would have been very proud of. Good friends for his ward certainly.

However, that did not explain why they were out after curfew.

"Based on your conversation, I think you're well aware that curfew has passed."

The two shared a nervous look.

"We know," the witch said eventually. "But-but..."

She turned to the blonde beside her for support, obviously uncertain if she should tell the entire truth.

"We're looking for someone," Neville stated, meeting his eyes. "He wasn't in the common room once curfew came so we went looking for him."

"We haven't found him though," the witch added sadly.

"Why didn't you inform your head of house?" Albus pressed.

"She wasn't there," Hermione said softly.

"She's never there," Neville mumbled softly.

Albus sighed mentally at the words he obviously was not meant to hear. Would he have to have yet another conversation with Minerva about her duties? He hoped not to anytime soon; he would hate to have to act on the veiled threat he had issued to her last year. Regardless, he had a more immediate problem to deal with.

The pair had been out looking for Harry – but it truly did not excuse their rule breaking. However, it was admirable that they would care so much for him to risk getting into trouble for it.

"Who is the missing student?" he inquired.

"Harry Potter," Neville supplied.

Albus tapped at his chin thoughtfully, trying to look as if he was recalling something. "Potter...Potter. Right," he stated, looking at them. "The Head Boy has a list of those who aren't living full time in the dormitories. And Potter is one of them."

"What?" the pair asked in union.

"He's only a part-time resident in the dorms," Albus explained. "When is it...He's with his guardians on Wednesdays and weekends."

The shock emanating from the two was palpable, and for a moment, Albus wondered why Harry had not informed them. They seemed very much concerned for them; he was certain Harry would have recognised that they cared.

"Is he ill?" Neville asked urgently, drawing the headmaster from his thoughts.

"What?" Albus asked with genuine confusion.

"Is that why he has to go home?" the blonde explained further. "We know he has potions to take. Is he that ill?"

"No no no," he responded swiftly. "Potter is not ill." Albus stopped himself before he said anything more. They thought he was a prefect. There was a limit to what he would have been 'told.' "I'm not sure of the circumstances. You should ask Potter. But for now, you need to go back to the dorms."

"The portrait won't let us in," the witch said sadly. "We're going to be in so much trouble...only Professor McGonagall can let us in now."

Making a swift decision, Albus spoke. "You'll have to serve a detention for being out after curfew," he informed them. "But, I don't see any need for the Professor to be disturbed at this hour."

"But –"

"Trust me," he said, winking playfully at them. "I'm certain the Fat Lady can be made to see reason. We have a certain bond if you will."

"You aren't from Gryffindor..."

"Doesn't matter," he chuckled. "Come along now. I heard that the headmaster likes to walk about sometimes. It's wouldn't do to be caught by him."

Ten minutes later, Albus waved the two through the portrait, nodding in thanks to the Fat Lady before turning away. He would send the pair an essay to write, he decided as he headed back to his own quarters. That would be the end of that matter. Eventually, he dropped the glamour, certain now that the corridors were completely empty. Absently, he stroked his beard. The conversation with them as they had returned to the Tower had been enlightening, and he had used the opportunity to gauge better their personalities.

Granger was a little too headstrong he supposed; he wasn't entirely certain if Harry could handle her personality, but Neville seemed a perfect fit. They were very similar, although the blonde seemed a lot more perceptive and determined than people seemed to give him credit for. Speaking with him, Albus saw no signs of the clumsy, timid boy Severus had complained about. Then again, he could have changed over the summer. Harry certainly had. Nevertheless, Albus was pleased, and considered the day a success on all fronts. Hopefully the next would continue along in the same vein.

*

Harry wrapped his arms around his drawn legs, rocking slightly as he looked out at the Lake. He sighed softly, not bothering to fix his hair as a strong gust blew pieces of it into his face. He had more important things to deal with – things to think about. Having friends was turning out to be a more arduous task than he had originally anticipated. It wasn't as if he was not appreciative. He certainly enjoyed Neville and Hermione's company.

The thing was, he was not used to answering to students, and, apparently, the pair expected it of him. It had started the week before when they had all but accosted him after potions, demanding to know why he lived part-time with his guardians, and why they had not been told. Answering that had been difficult, and he had felt extremely guilty when told that they had gotten into trouble because of him. He had apologised, but somehow managed evading answering their most important question.

He was not exactly sure why he didn't just tell them; his guardian had similarly questioned him over the reason. He had not been able to give one, because, truthfully, he was not entirely certain what was wrong with him. All he knew was that he couldn't tell, at least not yet. His guardianship was something he deeply treasured, and somehow he felt it would lose its special nature if he told of it. Yes, it wasn't the most sensible explanation, but it was the only thing he could come up with.

However, that wasn't the only reason he somewhat regretted the friendship.

As much as he had craved companionship the previous year, it was not until now that he realised exactly how stifling it could be. He was used to his own company and wandering about at will. Now he could not do so without the Gryffindors tagging along, or expressing concern for him whenever he returned. He knew it was done with good intentions; however, he just was not used to answering to anyone. He liked being on his own sometimes, and also enjoyed giving in to his feelings. If he felt like walking, he did. There was no rationale behind it. Nevertheless, whenever he wandered off alone, his friends worried if someone had bothered him, or if they themselves had offended him. It wasn't a particular nice situation to be in. The majority of it stemmed from Hermione though – the witch constantly seemed to need control, and sometimes it was overwhelming. Which made him entirely more grateful to Neville, as the blonde had no issue with curtailing Hermione's efforts, whereas he never had the courage to do so.

What should he do, he wondered. He loved having friends, but he enjoyed his freedom as well.

"It's too col' for yeh to be out here with jus' a robe."

The rumbling voice broke the silence of the environment and startled him. Harry jumped, before raising startled eyes upwards to the huge figure looming over him. He relaxed minutely after a moment, before scrambling to his feet. It was Mr. Hagrid. He had never interacted with the man personally; however, he had heard nothing but favourable reports about him from the headmaster. If he trusted him, Harry knew he had nothing to fear from the man.

"Hello, sir," he greeted softly.

"I'm jus' Hagrid, Harry," he stated jovially. "Winter's coming early this year. It's the only reason for this type of weather."

Now that he mentioned it, the weather was rather chilly, Harry noted.

"It might," he agreed, following his gaze upwards to the sky.

"I haven't seen yeh in so long," he stated after a moment, smiling down at him.

"So long?" he repeated.

"Yes. The las' I saw yeh, yeh was about this big," he stated, using his hands to illustrate. "Yeh jus about fitted in one hand. Pretty bairn yeh were. So sad what happened. Yeh looks like 'em though. Yeh looks like James, but yeh've yeh mother's eyes, an' if Professor Flitwick is right, her smarts as well."

"Professor Flitwick?"

"He's been boasting about yeh," Hagrid told him. "He told me yesterday when I was helping him gather some pixies for his third years."

"Really?"

Harry felt a surge of pride at the news. He had been trying his best, and, though barely two weeks had passed thus far in the term, he was glad that someone was acknowledging the progress he had made.

"Really," Hagrid confirmed. "Say, are yeh busy now, Harry?"

"No, sir."

"That'll be Hagrid," he reminded him with a wink.

"Okay, H-Hagrid." Harry stumbled over the name, not accustomed to addressing an adult so informally. Nevertheless, it seemed to be what the man wanted if the big grin on his face was any indication.

"Will yeh come with me to my cabin then? I've got something interesting to show yeh."

"Okay," Harry agreed.

He followed the man across the grounds to his home, peering curiously at the pumpkin patch to the side of it.

"They're my best crop yet," he boasted. "They'll be huge by Halloween."

"Do you produce everything?"

"Mainly for myself and my friends," he responded. Somehow, Harry got the feeling that the friends he was referring too were not necessary of the human variety. "I do the pumpkins at the headmaster's request. He says that mine are the best this side of the country."

"They certainly taste good."

"Thank yeh, Harry."

Soon enough, they were inside, and, at the man's suggestion, Harry made himself at home on the couch, eyeing the large dog before the fireplace with slight trepidation. Hagrid had assured him that Fang was harmless, and indeed, the dog had greeted him jovially, and had even slobbered over his hand before Hagrid could gain control of him. Nevertheless, he had had one too many bad experiences with dogs to be fully trustful of it.

Currently, he was sipping on a cup of too sweet tea, while waiting for Hagrid to bring him a snack. He had offered to help, but Hagrid had waved him off. Before the summer, Harry was certain that he would have protested and tried to assist anyway. However, by now he had finally learnt that sometimes adults truly preferred to do some tasks on their own.

"Did you make this, Hagrid?" he asked after a moment, noticing a wooden figurine of a wolf on the table before him.

"What? Yes, I did. I've made most everything in here."

"That's so cool," Harry breathed, looking around him with a new appreciation.

By now Hagrid had compiled a tray for him, however, before he could bring it, they both heard a soft noise. Almost like a cooing, Harry thought after a moment.

"Yeh're awake then?" Hagrid asked cheerfully, putting down the tray.

"Who are you talking to, Hagrid?"

The man had already moved from the kitchen, and was now in a corner of the room that was blocked from Harry's position.

"Come here, Harry," he bid, waving him over. "This was wha I wanted to show yeh. I found her over the weekend."

That her turned out to be an owl, Harry saw a few seconds later. He crouched down beside the adult to get a better look at it. The owl was seated on a makeshift perch, wood shavings about the base. It was a beautiful bird, although it seemed slightly battered.

"What happened to her?" he asked.

"A hawk's my guess," Hagrid said sadly. "Fang found her actually. He kept barking when we were in the forest. She was in a hole in the tree, scared out of her wits. She's a smart one though, found a hole small enough that she couldn't be harmed. Her wing's sprained."

"Will she be okay?"

"She'll be fine," Hagrid smiled. "However, she'll never have a home in the wild again."

"What? Why?"

Gently, Hagrid reached out a finger, and stroked the owl's head. It recoiled for a moment, before relaxing, hooting softly.

"She's grown too accustomed to being taken care of now. She won't survive on her own. The problem is, I can't keep her."

"Oh-"

"I want to, believe me, Harry. But I ten' to bring all kin' of creatures home with me, an some won't take too kindly to an owl."

While Harry wasn't too certain what sort of creatures the man associated with, what he was certain of was the fact that an owl might make a tasty snack for someone.

"So what are you going to do with her?" he asked, tentatively reaching out a hand.

The owl stared at it for long moments, before looking up at him. Meeting its gaze, Harry felt a sort of connection with the animal. They'd both had rough experiences after all. The owl broke the look after a few seconds, and stunned Harry by hopping forward, onto his hand. He blinked in surprise at her weight, but after a moment, adjusted to it. It felt right somehow.

"Well, it looks like she's read my mind," Hagrid chuckled.

"What?" Harry asked, looking toward him with some confusion.

Hagrid grinned at him. "Well, from the headmaster I know yeh didn't have a pet, and owls are ruddy useful. Plus she likes yeh. She's yers if yeh want her?"

Harry was shocked by the offer, and indeed, was quite tempted to say yes. Who wouldn't want such a beautiful owl? But, the headmaster...

"My guardians," he whispered.

"The headmaster will say yes," Hagrid said confidently. "Besides, yeh've been a good boy from what I've heard. I doubt he'll say no to yeh."

"I should ask though."

"Carry her with yeh," Hagrid bid straightening. "It'll be hard to refuse if yeh already have her."

Harry chuckled at the mischievous tone in his voice, but he couldn't help but agree.

A few minutes later, he was enthusiastically hugging the headmaster in thanks, while the owl sat contentedly on the edge of his desk.

"What are you going to call her my boy?" Albus asked minutes later, watching as Harry stroked her plumage gently.

"Hedwig," he stated after a minute. "I think I'll call her Hedwig."

Hedwig hooted softly, seemingly agreeing to the name while across the room Fawkes looked at the owl, before its eyes narrowed into a glare.


	30. Chapter 30

"Tea for two?" Pomona quipped as she took a seat across from Filius.

"Once again, it seems," he agreed, gently pushing a teacup to her.

She accepted it gratefully, thankful for the refreshment after an afternoon in the Greenhouses. The witch glanced around the staffroom. It was mostly empty. In a far corner sat Charity, fiddling with a muggle device. Not too far away from her was Sinistra, dosing on an armchair near the fireplace. Rolling her eyes slightly, Pomona retrieved her wand and carefully cast a spell on the chair. Gradually, it transformed into a recliner, leaving the woman in a much more comfortable position. Filius hardly reacted to her actions – he himself had done the same on numerous occasions. It was the least they could do for the witch who had to deal with students at all hours of the night.

Biting down on a scone, the Herbology Professor looked thoughtfully at the empty chair usually occupied by Minerva. They never really planned these tea times; however, at least twice a week they found themselves together, relishing contact with someone over the age of seventeen.

"Have you spoken to her this week?" Filius inquired, setting down his cup.

Pomona shook her head. "No," she confirmed, although by her summation, it was bordering on two weeks since they had last spoken. "You?"

"Briefly," he shrugged. "She wasn't in the best of moods."

"I know," she concurred, "which is why I've been putting off talking to her."

"About?"

Pomona hesitated only slightly before deciding to tell him. It was not as if the matter was a personal one. "I was going through the mark sheets for my students last week," she explained, "and I noticed that collectively their marks were very low in – "

"Potions?" Filius interjected, only to blink in surprise when she shook her head.

"Transfigurations actually," she told him. "I wouldn't have bat an eyelash were it Severus' doing, but Minerva..."

"It is strange," he agreed, making a note to check on his Ravenclaw students. "Although, my first years have been rather reluctant to go to their Transfiguration classes. I've had to shoo them from the common room more than once."

"Have they given a reason?"

Filius looked slightly abashed, and tapped at the rim of his teacup. "I have not asked," he admitted. "I just thought that since their lessons are always after lunch they were too preoccupied with their games and such."

"They are a rather childish lot," she concurred with a small smile, recalling the difficulty she had had getting them to settle down earlier in the day. It was not bad behaviour particularly, just the remnants of childhood where they preferred to be up and about rather than confined to any one location.

"They are," he chuckled. "Well, not Miss Lovegood I suppose. I swear that one is even stranger than her mother could have ever hoped to be."

"Filius!" she chastised. "Do not speak ill of the dead."

"I am simply stating a fact," he countered. "I mean no offence to the girl, but, have you ever spoken to her?"

"Not more than necessary," she admitted. "She's a sweet child, although her claims are a bit daunting."

"Nargles and the like, I suppose?"

"Well yes. But what truly astounds me is that she's usually right."

"What?"

"You haven't noticed?" she said rhetorically. "Listen to her the next time she speaks. Only today, she pointed to Greenhouse 3 and said that the Hicklebiffs were agitated. That is where I spent my afternoon. One of the upper years used the wrong fertilizer and the place was over-run with vines by the time I noticed. There have been one or two other occasions, but still, I have learnt not to take her words lightly."

The man shot her a sceptical look but agreed regardless to pay the girl closer attention. The witch was rarely wrong in such matters after all.

They sat in silence for a few minutes after that. As she sipped her tea, Pomona found her attention returning to the empty chair. She dwelled on the absent woman, thinking about her recent behaviour. It was vaguely familiar, she acknowledged. She had acted like this before – years before. Pomona had only been on staff for a few years at that time, and they had not been as close as they were now. Thus, the witch was not certain what had triggered her behaviour or if it had anything to do with how she was currently acting.

"Albus would probably know," she mused, thinking of the relationship between the two.

"Perhaps I should speak to him," she mused.

"To who?"

The witch smiled ruefully as she realised that she had spoken louder than planned. "I was just thinking," she replied nonetheless, "that perhaps someone should talk to Minerva. Albus seems the most likely to get a response from her."

"They are close," Filius confirmed. "They've been friends for years, ever since her school days here when he was her Professor. For a while there were actually rumours..." The Professor did not complete the statement, but the waggle of his brows was enough for Pomona to grasp the insinuation of his words.

She chuckled at the implausibility of it. "Those rumours must have been among the students."

"Yes," he confirmed. "The staff knew better; however, as is the case now, rumours are often hard to quell."

"Speaking of which," Pomona stated, changing the conversation. "Have you heard the latest antics of the Weasley twins?"

*

It was now almost two months into the school term. For Harry, they were the best two months he had ever experienced. This thought flitted across his mind as he listened to Hermione's recital of the twelve ingredients of the potion they were brewing the next day. They were near the fireplace in the common room, having been fortunate enough to snag the chairs there. Previously, Neville had lain on the spot between the two chairs as he went through Hermione's history notes, cross-referencing them with his own. They had come up with a system that benefited them all. Each had their own strengths and weaknesses and by combining their efforts, all of their academic lives were running smoothly.

Well, Harry corrected, casting a glance at his returned Transfiguration essay, almost everything was going smoothly. The majority of the school, himself included, firmly believed that the 'prized' role of being the strictest and meanest Professor in the school now belonged to the witch. And even though he resented the students' opinion of Professor Snape, even he had to admit that the potions master could be quite mean when he wanted to be. Although, he added, not even at his worst, had the man acted as terrible as the woman did now. Her class was pure torment. Losing points were now a given.

Everything from a dropped quill to a whispered conversation was apt to lead to a point deduction or worse, a detention. Even Hermione was nervous now during lessons. She never answered out of turn anymore, nor volunteered excessively after the first point lost for 'disrupting the class'. That comment had nearly reduced the witch to tears. All had been shocked at that, especially since the Professor from the first day of classes had actually encouraged the witch in her interjections while advocating that they do the same. It would make for a rousing discussion relating to the topic. Now, no one spoke unless directed to, heck, no one even looked at each other anymore.

The woman's classroom was almost militant.

But what was worse, especially to Hermione, was the fact that the woman's grading had become almost harsh. None of them had achieved an O since the term had started, and frankly, students celebrated now if their works came back with an A. And the comments that returned with it were so scathing that few bothered to read them. Dejectedly, Harry thumbed the rolled parchment. He had only gotten an A by one mark, and, it was plainly evident that the woman had been 'generous' if her comments were to be believed. Neville had gotten a P, while Hermione had managed what amounted to be a high A. All of them had left the classroom in stunned silence after that.

Neville had bounced back quickly enough. He had simply tossed the essay aside, stating that he would forward one of his drafts to his tutor. He plainly declared that he did not believe the grade he had received was earned. He offered to forward their essays as well; however, Hermione, and then he, had declined. There was no need for him to do so, he told himself. There was no need with his guardians right there. He was not looking forward to the discussion that would follow though. Hermione, on the other hand, firmly believed that she was in the error, and had sworn to re-write the essay the next day, keeping all of the Professor's words in mind.

"Harry?"

The wizard blinked, drawing himself from his thoughts. He gave the witch a small, apologetic smile.

"You were daydreaming," she chuckled. "Or are you tired? It's been a long day."

"A bit of both," Harry admitted softly.

They had already bathed and changed into their nightclothes at her suggestion. It left them with more study time before they headed to bed, she had rationalised. He had gone along with it easily enough, although Neville had shrugged and said he was good as he was. That had led to a small bickering match between the pair that had abruptly ended when Harry had issued a laugh, commenting on the silliness of their discussion. The pair had blushed, and for almost half an hour after that, they had gone their separate ways.

"Neville hasn't come back yet?" Harry asked presently, looking toward their dormitory.

He had finally gone up a while ago to change. However, he had promised to come back down. Yet there was still no sign of him. Glancing at the clock, Harry saw that it was a quarter to nine.

"Maybe he fell asleep," the witch shrugged, even as she started gathering her belongings. "It's a bit early I know, but I'm tired as well."

Harry offered a small shrug, uncertain. However, there seemed to be no better explanation. "It's almost my bedtime," he noted, mimicking her actions.

"Are you going home tomorrow?" she inquired.

"Yes," Harry answered automatically. "I'll go to the library first when classes are over with you guys though."

"Brilliant," she said, before chuckling slightly. She had learnt the expression from them and used it although she found it quite amusing.

Honestly, Harry had not expected them to take his absence from the dorms so easily. Yet, neither of them badgered him for information. All they had asked was if it was for medical reasons. He had assured them it was not that. It was just that he was still accustomed to his new guardians, so they thought it prudent for him to have continued access to them. Neville had told him once that the other boys hardly noticed his absence. He was usually asleep by the time they came to bed anyway, and, with Neville ensuring that his drapes remained closed, they were none the wiser.

"See you in the morning then," Hermione bid, waving at him slightly as they reached the dormitory stairs.

"Good night," Harry responded before heading to the door marked 'Second Years'.

He heard Seamus and Dean's voices as he neared the door, and, after a moment, his brows furrowed in confusion.

"What are you Longbottom, a baby?"

"No wonder he's so fat! Did you eat all those sweets in a night, Ladbottom?"

"I bet it was in an hour!"

"Give it back!"

The last voice was Neville's, Harry noted, except, he had never heard it sounding so frantic – so pleading. Logically, the pre-teen knew that he should go for help. There were prefects just down the stairs, and what he was hearing was clearly bullying. Yet, the wizard found himself rooted on the spot. He still had his Occlumency lessons with the headmaster, and, for the most part, he now had control over his memories. However now, as the voices floated through the closed door, Harry could clearly recall the times he had been cornered by Dudley and his gang, terrified of what they were doing or would do to him, while fully knowing that, as a freak, he had no right to protest. It was what he deserved for his lowly status.

Even without the lessons drummed into his head by his then guardians, Harry would not have lifted a single finger against his cousin. That would have led to the whipping of a lifetime – he had only endured one of those types, but it certainly had left a lasting impression on him. Standing here, listening to the continuing dialogue, Harry found himself swamped by the memories, seeing himself in Neville's place. He was pleading for the return of his items, for them not to destroy them. However, something was different this time around.

While the memories gripped him, they did not control him. Even as he dwelled on them, other memories surfaced, rebutting them. Images of the Headmaster and Professor Snape floated to him, reminding him that he was better than that. That he was not a freak; he did not deserve the treatment afforded to him. That last thought snapped the pre-teen back to reality. He was not a freak, and Neville was certainly not one neither. Which meant that, no matter what was going on within the dormitory, his friend did not deserve what was happening to him.

Harry felt his breath quicken as resolve set into him. He had never felt this way before, but he knew he had to act. Him, and not some prefect. Neville was his friend and had protected him so much over the last few weeks. Neville was a constant presence by him, a big brother that offered him guidance and companionship in a way he could never repay. He was the one, on very first night back at school, who had helped him. Without him, he would have never have fulfilled McGonagall's prompt, and certainly would not have given Hermione a second chance. Yes, Neville had done all of this for him. He could not repay him by running away. He would help his friend in the same way he had been helped.

With that decided, Harry reached forward and opened the door.

Harry quickly took in the situation, even as all eyes turned to him. Seamus and Dean had slightly panicked expressions on their faces, but they smoothed out when they saw him. Undoubtedly, they had thought it was an older student who had come to see what was going on. Neville was standing slightly behind them, an angry yet hurt expression on his face. Looking at Seamus, Harry discerned the edge of a wrapper in his hand. There were others strewn across the floor actually and there were a couple on Neville's bed.

"It's just Potter," Dean said after a moment, a slight smirk on his mouth.

"Leave Neville alone," Harry stated, striving to keep his voice steady.

It was literally the first time he had to assert himself in this way, but he hid his nervousness well. A small voice at the back of his mind whispered that he had no right to talk to anyone like this, but, like with his memories, Harry tossed the words aside in favour of the words uttered to him by his guardians over the past few months. He had every right to speak his mind, and, this time especially, he had ample motivation.

Harry expected a sharp retort from one, if not both of the boys before him. After all, on the rare occasions they actually interacted with each other, the other two were often quick to pass insults.

"What do you see in this tub of lard, Potter?" Dean asked, throwing a disdainful look at Neville who seemed quite uncertain as to what to do.

The young wizard had never seen his friend so shaken, and it bothered him tremendously. Neville had become a solid rock for him. He had never seen this weakness in him – clumsiness, yes, forgetfulness, definitely, but never this air of defeat. It had a direct linkage to the wrappers, Harry recognised. They were the only odd factor in this entire equation.

"Neville is my friend," he stated.

"But why," his roommate persisted, a perplexed look on his face. "We're much better than him. Why don't you forget this baby and hang with us?"

"Stop that!" Neville barked suddenly, drawing their attention to him.

Seamus sneered at him, but, after a quick motion from Dean, stopped scrounging a wrapper under his shoe.

"Well, Potter?" Dean continued.

Harry did not even need the time to contemplate on it. At this moment, the pair appeared to be little more than bullies. How could they upset his friend like this and then expect him to join them? He could and would never do that.

"You call me a baby as well," he pointed out.

Sometimes though, Harry believed the title deserved. It was only after bringing some of his games back from the Headmaster's quarters that the wizard had actually realised that some of the games he adored were actually targeted to a far younger age group. He had brought them after Hermione had requested to see a few. She had never bothered to go into the toy store in Diagon Alley and wondered if there were similarities. Inevitably, there were little and, in a corner of the common room, they both enjoyed playing with the novel items. Some were quite simplistic – for example, one was merely a crinkled ball that expanded magically when touched and floated about, inviting them to follow it. Harry had had quite the time chasing it around the garden at Cottage Manor, and on one afternoon, the three of them had indulged in a game near the Lake.

There were other things Harry brought and Neville, after watching them with wry amusement the first time, had eventually participated with them, most times indicating other ways the items operated – ways they would have never realised themselves. However, the very games they indulged in often led to them being teased by their year mates, although largely they ignored it. Harry did not care how old he was for the games. Firstly, he had never experienced magical ones, but more importantly, he had not experienced any muggle ones either.

Therefore, he found it hard to be embarrassed about how he found things like drawing and colouring amusing still – especially after the headmaster had gotten him magical coloured pencils that actually animated the drawings. Besides that, more than once, one of the muggle-born first years with an affinity for photography had come over and joined them, as impressed and awed by the things as they were. They were now on speaking terms with him, even though Hermione found his propensity for taking pictures of them – Harry particularly – annoying.

"That's different," Seamus said currently, after Dean shifted slightly.

The other wizard turned his back to Neville, who immediately dropped down and started carefully, almost reverently, gathering the wrappers.

"I don't want to be friends with you, though," Harry stated, looking past them to his friend. "You're mean to Neville. You were mean to me."

"That was nothing," Dean said, chuckling nervously. "We just wanted to show you how much better you can be away from him and Granger."

A part of Harry knew that, if this whole scenario had occurred last year, he would have readily complied, if only to have some form of companionship. Now though, he knew better. They did not want to be friends with him. They just wanted to say that they were his friends, to use him much like they had used Hermione the year before. Harry honestly did not think they were bad people. He had seen the other people in his year interact with each other. Many times, their antics mirrored his own with his friends. The conversation topics might have differed, but in the end, they were all twelve or thirteen year old witches and wizards, trying their best to form bonds with each other. He recognised that.

However, it did not mean that he wanted much to do with them. If they simply wanted to be his friends, he would consider saying yes. He'd seen large groups of friends around the school before. Nevertheless, what they wanted him to do was completely separate himself from Neville and Hermione and instead remain solely with them. That he refused to do.

"I can't," he told them. "I'm sorry, but you don't like Neville and he's my friend. I won't choose you over him."

The two wizards' expressions darkened, before Seamus said loudly. "You're just a loser like him, Potty. There's nothing special about you!"

Stating that, Seamus stomped past him out the room, giving a wrapper a disgusted kick before leaving. Dean followed at a more sedate pace, pausing near Harry to murmur, "When you're tired of hanging with LadBottom, you know where to find us."

Harry said nothing, and shortly after, the pair had the room to themselves.

Neville seemed not to notice as he was still gathering the colourful bits of paper. After a moment, Harry dropped to his knees as well, picking them up as carefully as his friend was. One though was coloured side down, and, when Harry moved to touch it, his hand froze, hovering over it.

There was a drawing on the wrapper. It was crudely drawn, the lines shaky as if the person's hand was trembling when it was drawn. There was no discernable pattern, and after a moment, the wizard gave up on trying to find one. Curious though, he turned another one over and saw another drawing, this one vaguely reminding him of a tree. His gaze lifted to Neville, but he was not watching him, intent on smoothening one. Harry continued his action, and shortly, after collecting the severely crinkled one Seamus had smashed, all were accounted for.

He moved until he was kneeling beside his friend, and, extending his cupped hands, offered them to him. Finally, the blonde looked up at him and Harry was startled by the mix of emotion in his eyes as he accepted them.

"Thank you, Harry," he whispered in a choked voice, before carefully dropping them into his lap.

Harry sat back on his heels, watching as Neville quickly counted them. "They're all here," he said after a moment, a small smile on his face. "Thank, Merlin."

He then pulled a small case from within his trunk, which shortly widened. Carefully, he deposited them in it, cradling the case to his chest. Harry suddenly felt as if he were intruding on a very private movement, and stood, moving away. He shot the occasional glance to his friend while he fiddled around his bed, but the blonde remained in the same position. After a while, Harry climbed into his own bed, deciding that his friend was not going to say anything. Besides, it was almost half nine now, and Harry found himself growing quite lethargic.

"Neville?" he called out, his hands on the rope that would close his curtains. "I'm going to bed, okay?"

His words seemed to draw the blonde from his near stupor, for he lifted his head, looking toward him. Harry was shocked to see that there were tears running down the boy's face, and quickly, he made to move off his bed. A wave of Neville's hand stopped him though. Holding the case in one hand, he brushed at his cheeks with the other before offering Harry a somewhat sad smile.

"I'll be fine," he told him in a scratchy voice. "I'm going to bed now myself. We'll talk tomorrow."

"O-okay," Harry replied, slightly uncertain. Should he press the issue?

But by now the blonde had crawled into his own bed and was starting to draw the curtains closed.

"Oh, and Harry," he added before they completely shut, "thank you."

Harry mimicked his actions, but, despite his tiredness, found it almost impossible to fall asleep. His mind constantly replayed Neville's behaviour, and again, Harry found himself questioning the importance of the wrappers to his friend. Eventually, the thoughts faded and he was able to fall into a fitful sleep. Unbeknown to him, Fawkes flashed into the room, settling lightly on his back and singing to him until his mind settled and, finally, was at ease.


	31. Chapter 31

"Harry...Harry."

Said boy grumbled sleepily, turning his head away from the persistent voice calling out to him. He was still tired. All he wanted to do was sleep for a bit longer, so why didn't the person just leave him alone?

"Harry."

This time a hand was on his shoulder, shaking him gently. He resisted for a bit longer, clinging with determination to the realm of sleep, but finally, when the jostling increased, he was forced to open his eyes blearily.

Turning his head, he blinked owlishly up at the person seated on the edge of his bed.

"Neville?" he mumbled, as he struggled to a sitting position, yawning loudly.

"Now you're making me feel guilty, Harry!" Neville chuckled, even as he pressed his glasses into his hand.

"What time is it?" he asked sleepily as he donned them. He panicked briefly as he realised that his friend was fully dressed save the school robes, and was about to scramble off the bed when Neville raised a staying hand.

"It's almost six," he informed him.

"It's still early!" Harry protested, shooting his friend a morose look.

"I know," he said apologetically. "But I wanted to talk to you, and this is the only time we have. You're going home this afternoon, remember?"

Harry nodded in agreement, before his friend's words registered with him. His sleepiness fled him then, and he looked at him in concern. "Are you all right?" he pressed, searching his features. Neville looked considerably better than the previous night. There was no sign of melancholy in his expression, although Harry discerned a hint of sombreness in his gaze.

"I'm much better," he replied, offering him a small smile. "Thank you for what you did by the way. I know how difficult that must have been for you to do."

Harry flushed slightly at the praise. "It was," he admitted. "But I had to do something to help you."

"I'm glad," Neville assured him. "When Seamus spilled the wrappers, I couldn't concentrate on anything else. All I wanted to do was get them back before he damaged them."

"Is the one he mashed okay?"

"It's a bit crumpled but I'll try to fix it later. I didn't want to use magic last night. I was too upset."

Harry was not entirely sure how to respond to that. He was curious, very curious as about Neville's attachment to the wrappers. Even to him, it was a trivial thing, but it was obvious that Neville cherished them. Should he ask about it?

Neville took the decision from him by speaking again. "Have I ever told you about my family, Harry?" he asked, almost rhetorically, for he continued talking without waiting for an answer. "Not about my Gran really, but my parents. No one knows actually. It's not that I'm ashamed about it – it's just personal."

"Then you don't have to tell me," Harry pointed out, even as his mind raced to process the information.

Neville was right. Until now, he had never mentioned his parents. His Gran was featured in numerous conversations, and occasionally he mentioned a rather mean uncle who had forced his first act of magic from him. It was only now that Harry realised that, unconsciously, he had labelled Neville as being an orphan like himself. It now appeared as if that was not the case.

"I want to," the blonde told him. "You're a good friend, and after last night, I'm sure you won't laugh at me." He paused, and after taking a deep breath continued. "It was just after the Final Battle," he stated, his voice dropping slightly. "You-know-who had been defeated, but everything was still in chaos. There were still Death Eaters at large – Death Eaters out for revenge. Four of them – four of them found our house somehow. Gran never found out how for certain.

"When they came, Mom and Dad did not fight them – not at first. They were too busy warding my room. They were protecting me you see. The Death Eaters didn't know about me, and they wanted to keep it that way. Mom fought until Dad finished and joined her. But by then it was too late. They tortured them. By the time help came...it was too late."

Neville paused to take a shuddering breath before he continued. "They captured the Death Eaters. They're in Azkaban currently – forever. Just like my parents are stuck in St. Mungo's forever."

"The hospital?" Harry asked tentatively.

"Yes," Neville confirmed before continuing. "The Death Eaters used an Unforgivable on them until they went crazy. They don't even know who they are any more. They don't know who I am."

The preteen broke off again. This time though, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a wrapper. Harry's eyes were drawn to it. This time he saw the label 'Drooble's Best Blowing Gum' on it. Neville flipped it over, revealing a next drawing.

"Gran took me in after that. Every two weeks she carried me to see them. At first they hoped it would do something to them, seeing me that is. They thought it would gain a reaction from them, something to bring them back to reality. Instead, I started getting these." Neville's fist closed loosely around the wrapper as he spoke.

"From the very first visit, she started giving them to me. My mom I mean. Sweets keep them calm for some reason, and so the healers gave them a few a day. Mom never let them take the wrappers, and eventually she started drawing on them. The first time I went, Gran put me by Mom. She didn't look at me, she just sat there. When Gran was about to take me aware, she reached out and dropped a handful of the wrappers on my lap. Since then it's become a tradition I guess. Eventually, she started decorating them too.

"The healers think that she recognises me on some level. These are her gifts to me. No one else gets them and she creates a fuss if anyone tries to touch them. She stores them carefully, and every time I go, she gives them to me." Neville smiled fondly down at the paper. "It isn't much, I know," he admitted, "and some people find it silly. Gran does. She always tells me to throw them away, but I never do. I actually have this really big book at home that I stick all of them in. The pages are somewhat transparent so I see either side. I wanted to bring some with me though, just to have mom near."

The blonde reached into his pocket again, this time withdrawing the one Seamus had mashed. "This one is my favourite," he continued. "Dad gave me this one last year. It was the first time he's acknowledged me."

A sad smile played upon Neville's lips. "Dad's much worst than Mom. She moves around. Sometimes she actually does stuff. Most times she just goes and sits by Dad's bed and looks at him. Dad just stares. He can feed himself now, but that's about it. I always try talking to him, as I do with Mom, but it never helps. She looks at me when I speak, with this sort of dreamy smile. Gran says I have her smile," he added proudly.

"I look a lot like her. Dad never reacts though. Then last year, when we were ready to leave, he moved. One of Mom's wrappers was next to him. She forgets some by him occasionally. He gave it to me, but the best part was that he actually looked at me. It didn't last long, and Gran never believed me, but I saw it. He looked at me and he gave me this. It's been my favourite since.

"I usually go through the wrappers every few nights." Here a flush slowly crept up the blonde's neck. "I talk to it – to them. It's stupid, but to me, these wrappers mean they are near. I like telling them about my day and stuff. I usually wait until bedtime when my curtains are drawn. The privacy wards make sure no one can hear what I say..."

It was only now that Harry realised that indeed his curtains were drawn for the same reason.

"I didn't expect anyone to come up so early last night, so I took up the case. I dropped it though and it spilled open. That's when Seamus and Dean came in and well, you know the rest."

Neville fell silent after that, staring thoughtfully down at the wrappers.

"Thank you for telling me," Harry said eventually, not knowing what else to say.

He understood how difficult it must have been for Neville to share his family life with him. More than that, he understood the level of trust his friend had in him to do so. "I promise I won't tell anyone."

Neville chuckled slightly, pocketing the wrappers. "I know you won't, Harry," he told him.

"Will they ever get better?"

"They won't," he responded, shaking his head slightly. "Anyway, I think it's better this way."

"Why?" Harry asked curiously.

"Think about it. Even if they heal them, how do you think they would react 'waking up' after all these years? If it were me, I might go crazy all over again."

After a moment, Harry found that he agreed with his friend.

"Gran says it's better that they stay in the hospital, but I don't agree. St. Mungo's can't do anything for them. I want them home, but she says it's too much trouble. I will bring them home though," he said seriously. "She can't stop me when I grow up."

"Huh?"

"When I reach seventeen I'll become head of the family," Neville explained. "Dad's technically it since he's still alive, but Gran sees about everything because he can't. When I reach seventeen I'll take over. Once I'm out of Hogwarts, I'm bringing them home, even if I have to care for them myself."

"Does your Gran know?" Harry asked, shocked that his friend was planning to disobey his guardian's wishes. As is, he could not even phantom doing something the headmaster or potions master did not agree with.

Neville surprised him by laughing. "She does," he stated. "I got grounded for being rude, but she didn't say anything against it. She seemed kind of proud actually." The young wizard shrugged, clearly showing that he did not understand the woman's reaction. He was about to say something else, when a trill from above interrupted him.

Both of their heads whipped upwards in surprise. Neville gaped at the phoenix perched on one of the bed posters while Harry tilted his head in confusion. A quick scan of the magical creature showed that he did not have a letter from him. The headmaster had never contacted him that way; however, he knew that the phoenix sometimes delivered letters to the potions master. Thus, he was confused by its presence, especially when it looked at him pointedly before flapping his wings slightly.

It was the first time in his memory that the bird had acknowledged him.

"We'll be late!" Neville gasped beside him, diverting his attention from the phoenix.

"What?"

"Breakfast is starting!"

"Oh no," Harry panicked, hurriedly tossing the covers off him. "I haven't even packed my bag!"

Neville rose as well. "Go change," he urged. "I'll tell Hermione to go ahead and I'll start packing for you, okay?"

"Thanks, Neville," he replied gratefully as he scrambled around for his uniform. "And thank you," he added, looking up at Fawkes.

The bird trilled once in acknowledgement before flashing out. Giving his friend a slight grin, Harry hurried toward the bathroom.

*

"Trelawney decided to grace the Hall with her presence so I'm eating here," Severus said by way of greeting.

The headmaster looked up from where he was setting the table. "That's wonderful, my boy," he beamed. "Grab another set of dinner things and join me."

The younger wizard gave a vague reply as he shrugged out of his robes. Getting the things, he walked over. As he placed them, he absently looked around, now realising that Potter had not greeted him. Why was the preteen not by his side peppering him with questions? After all, he never came up here on Fridays.

"Where's Potter?"

"He's changing for bed," Albus replied as he reached for Fawkes' food bowl.

"Already?"

"Yes."

"It's barely seven."

"I know," the headmaster said, looking at him briefly. "However he's been yawning throughout the afternoon and started to sleep on his History book. I decided that he was better off with an earlier bedtime tonight than dozing all over the place."

"Is that normal?" he asked, not wanting to jump to conclusions.

The behaviour seemed odd to him, especially given the fact that Albus was implying that it was unusual behaviour. It was only expected that Potter would be tired after five consecutive days of work. Nevertheless, the extent Albus was describing perplexed him. Maybe he needed another potion added to his regiment?

"It isn't," Albus confirmed. "He went to bed later than usual, got up too early and was restless for a bit in between."

Severus' mind offered the following translation of the old man's statement. "He stayed up late doing something undeniably Gryffindor, got up early in a panic to finish some undone assignment, and slept badly from over excitement or guilt." A scowl settled on his face. Potter knew better than that! Yes, while he had significantly decreased the number of potions he consumed daily, Potter was well aware that he needed as much sleep as possible so that his body would have the energy needed to grow. Was last night the only occurrence of this, or was Potter doing this regularly on nights he was not with them. If that was the case -

"What on earth has you scowling so?" Albus asked, drawing him from his thoughts.

"Potter," he snapped. "He knows better than to –"

"Hush, child," Albus interjected. Severus did, but only to glare at the man for the endearment. Which, he decided when the man's face lips quivered in amusement, had been his intention. "You're working yourself up over nothing. Harry had a perfectly valid reason for his actions last night and I will not have you scolding him over them."

"And what exactly is it?"

"Two of the Gryffindors were teasing and harassing Mr. Longbottom. Harry intervened and was able to quell the matter. He was suitably unnerved afterwards to sleep easily. This morning, Mr. Longbottom woke him early to speak about it and other issues that Harry chose not to share. I can't shake the feeling that it had something to do with Frank and Alice."

Severus reflected on the man's words for a few moments. His eyes widened slightly as the most crucial point hit him. "Potter intervened?" he repeated. "Our Potter?"

"Amazing, isn't it?" he chuckled. "Was it only summer when the lad seemed afraid of his own shadow? Now he is defending his friends. He's quite the hero."

Severus rolled his eyes slightly at the hero comment even as a pleased smile formed. "Good boy," he murmured, before glancing at his bedroom door. Potter still had not joined them and, by now, a good few minutes had passed. "Potter," he called out, raising his voice. "What are you doing in there, sewing those clothes?"

"Severus!" Albus scolded, even as the potions master walked to the bedroom, loosening his tie in the process. He knocked against the door, and, after a few seconds, opened it. As he had half expected, Potter was asleep, curled up on top the sheets. Beside him was a damp towel, which, with a slight shake of his head, Severus fetched.

"He's sleeping."

"He needs to eat first," the headmaster scolded. "I told him as much when I sent him off to bathe."

"It wasn't planned," Severus pointed out, removing and setting aside his glasses. "Help me get him under the sheets."

"But-"

"Are your teenage years really that far away?" Severus scoffed. "Give him an hour or two and his stomach will wake him. Now come here, old man."

Severus carefully grasped and lifted Harry while Albus pulled back the sheets. Putting him down, the potions master walked out of the bedroom, leaving it up to the headmaster to finish tucking him away. In the interim, he returned to the dining area and started fixing a sandwich for Potter using a combination of the salad and meat present. Putting it on the counter, he served both Albus and himself before settling down to wait for the man.

"Is Fudge still bothering you?" he asked minutes later.

Albus took a moment to swallow before responding. "Weekly," he said morosely. "Sometimes I debate running for the position. I'm doing half the work as it is."

"You would win easily," Severus mused. "However, it would be less of a hassle to tell him to bugger off."

Albus laughed at that. "It bothers me, yes; however, I do prefer it this way. At least I know who's advising him. Better me than someone with a bad agenda."

"I would never counsel an incompetent fool. You are too patient."

"And you are too impatient," Albus shot back, waving his fork at him.

"Hardly," he snorted. "I will have you know that I have yet to hand out a detention for the month."

"Truly?" the headmaster asked with justifiable disbelief. Sorting through detention files was one of Minerva's duties; however, the last time he had bothered to glance at the file, there didn't seem to be a marked decrease in the number of sheaves there. "Not even the first years?"

"They're actually a capable bunch," he admitted, startling the man. "There are a few dunderheads here and there, but overall they are acceptable."

"Wait, you actually approve of them? I think the world is ending," Albus deadpanned. "Or is it that you're sick?" he continued, playfully reaching across to feel his forehead. He laughed as Severus docked before glaring at him.

"I blame, Potter," Severus said eventually, when he was certain that Albus' fit of childishness had passed. "I became more lenient with my second years because I did not want to frighten the child. Somehow, it transferred over to my other classes. And now, Filius has stated that he's proud of me." He sneered mildly at the last bit. "He said that it's about time that I listened to his suggestion about being nicer."

"Well, I am taking partial credit," the headmaster said loftily, reaching for another piece of bread. "I've said that to you countless times."

"Since when do I listen to you?" he grumbled. "Regardless, the year has been less tedious than the last I suppose. I have more time for brewing now that I'm not constantly supervising detentions – although I suspect that Filch thinks me a traitor to the cause."

"Cause?"

"Didn't you know? Argus and I have dedicated our lives to making young witches and wizards miserable."

"You really need to make some friends," Albus muttered, reaching for his teacup, "normal friends."

"I'm not the one with a menace for a pet," he pointed out, earning himself a glare from Fawkes who had now settled at his bowl.

"Will you two ever get along?"

"Why?" Severus asked curiously. "This way is much more enjoyable."

The men moved to the living area a while later, nursing teacups. They talked idly on numerous topics for a while, until, after checking the time, Severus rose.

"I have to leave now."

"Already?"

"I have no choice," Severus stated as he reached for his robes. "You see, my employer insists that I ensure that all of my students are safely in their common room. Mind you, they do know better than crossing me, but as I fear the wrath of the lemon drop king, I'm afraid I must go."

"Oh my," Albus responded, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "Your employer sounds quite tyrannical. Although, a tyrant isn't too bad as long as he has lemon drops."

Severus snorted slightly. "The problem starts when he offers them to you," he quipped as he headed for the exit. "Tell Potter good night for me, and I'll see you in the morning."

"Will do," Albus called after him. "Have a good night, my boy."

*

"Does no one else care?" Hermione asked irritably, shooting a dark look further down the Gryffindor table.

"I doubt it," Harry murmured dejectedly, poking absently at a piece of meat on his plate. "They seem pretty happy to me."

"You're right," she huffed. "But then again, they never care."

"It's good that we weren't the only one to fail though," he pointed out.

"I suppose. For a while there I thought she was out for us."

"What?" Harry frowned.

"You didn't notice?" she asked with genuine surprise. "She ignored you after that first class and eventually she started avoiding our table all together. I think she was upset by what you said."

"What I said?"

"She told you something about your magic – I can't remember what exactly. But you told her that your guardian said it wasn't necessary. It sort of implied that she wasn't as good as your guardian and I think she was offended."

"I didn't mean it like that."

"I know you didn't," she said with a reassuring smile, "but I think she did. After that she started ignoring you, and then your marks started falling. But when our marks started dropping as well, I thought we were guilty by association. I mean, it's not like it can't happen. Professor Snape favours his students and I heard that he's lenient with people from other houses who are friends with them."

"Professor Snape isn't biased," Harry protested hotly. "He's really nice, and he's always fair! He's good."

Not for the first time, Hermione wondered at her friend's stringent defence of the potions master. It certainly was not the first time he had done so. Why did he feel the urge to defend him? Nevertheless, she apologised. "I'm not insulting him, Harry. I just mean that it's possible for teachers to be biased. But now I know that everyone's marks have been affected. Terry Boots from Ravenclaw said that they're planning to complain to Professor Flitwick. I agree with them, but it's not like we can do the same. We can't exactly go complain to our Head of House about our Head of House."

"That is true," he agreed. "Maybe someone else? A prefect?"

"I also talked to Percy Weasley," she told him. "I showed him my essay and he said it was worth at least an E. But he also said that they're having the same problems with her and no one really knows what to do. I mean, her comments on today's assignments weren't exactly helpful."

"At least you get comments," he muttered. The only thing that had been on his parchment was a P.

"I think I'd rather none."

They ate in silence for a while before Hermione broached the topic again. "Neville's tutor said that the drafts he sent her were pretty good. Those were the same ones that the Professor failed."

"I didn't know he got them back."

"It came last weekend. Which reminds me, what did your guardians say about it?"

"About what?"

"Harry," she said with slight exasperation. "You were going to show them your essays remember. Don't tell me you forgot?"

"Oh I remembered," he said honestly, "I didn't show them it though."

"Why on earth wouldn't you?" she demanded.

He shrugged slightly, using the excuse of drinking some juice to delay answering. Nevertheless, the witch was determined to get an answer, and so, looked at him expectantly. Relenting under her expression he admitted, "I was afraid to okay?"

"Afraid?" she repeated in confusion. "Why on earth were you afraid? Your guardians sound wonderful, Harry."

"They are," he confirmed. "They're perfect. That's why I was – I am afraid to show them."

"I don't understand, Harry," she said honestly.

"It's hard to explain," he sighed, putting down his fork. Discreetly, he shot a look at the head table where the headmaster was conversing easily with the Astronomy Professor. "They're so good to me, so good that I don't want to disappoint them. Summer was great, Hermione. They spent so much time helping me, not only with my magic but with my school work as well. They won't be happy that I'm failing at Transfigurations after all the work they put in with me. I'm afraid of disappointing them, so I hid it away."

"That actually makes a lot of sense," she admitted. "I'm not particularly thrilled about my parents finding out about these marks either."

"So where does that leave us?"

"I have no idea," she sighed. "But maybe the Ravenclaws will have better luck dealing with this."

"I really hope so," he agreed. "But then again, it's not like things could get any worse."

"We can only hope it doesn't," she replied. "It seems like Neville and Luna are done eating. Do you want to go by the lake after classes are over?"

"Let's," he agreed. "Soon it'll be too cold to go."

Rising, the pair of Gryffindors walked across to the Ravenclaw table to meet their friends. "Have you ever wondered where the squid goes during winter?"

"I've never thought about it," he admitted, tapping Neville's shoulder in greeting.

"Luna's bound to have a theory," she quipped, looking down at the witch.

And her words proved true, for the witch certainly did.


	32. Chapter 32

"What are you looking for?" Harry asked curiously, observing Luna.

He had been on his way to the library when he had caught a flash of her pale blonde hair. Coming across to say hello, he had stopped short, perplexed at the witch's actions. Every few seconds, Luna would look across the room, and murmur something, as if she was speaking to an unseen companion. Then she would start rummaging through objects along the corridor. Currently, she was tiptoeing to peep into the helmet of one of the suits of aRmour. Helpfully, the enchanted armour bent forward to grant her better access.

"Hello, Harry," she said without turning. "I've misplaced some of my belongings again. The nargles are very busy it seems."

"Um...do you want some help?" he offered carefully.

Harry had his suspicions about Luna, although he had yet to mention them to anyone, even Neville. Many people thought that the witch had an overactive imagination and called her 'Loony' resultantly. He was not one of them. He vaguely recalled a language lesson from his primary school. There was a language device where one thing meant another. A simile? No, it was not that, but it was similar. It was the one where there wasn't the use of 'as' or 'like'.

Maybe Hermione would remember it.

Nevertheless, he believed that Luna spoke like that. All of her invented words – Nargles, Flaffabugs and the likes – they all meant something. What exactly, he was not certain.

"You can," she said with a dreamy smile.

Putting down his bag, Harry moved to the next armour, peering inside. "What am I looking for?"

"My Charms textbook currently," she said, while moving toward a tapestry. "The Snargle said that it's in this corridor. She also said my quill would be here. There it is," she added a moment later.

Harry turned to look, and indeed saw the witch's quill stuck into the tapestry, a few inches above where she was pointing. "How did it get there?" he asked, coming over.

"The nargles," she answered.

Harry was quickly starting to believe that nargles were a synonym for the other first year students. "How often does this happen?"

"Usually once a week, however, they seem particularly mischievous today. Usually my things don't go past the common room, but here we are, two floors down"

"That's terrible," he replied.

"I don't mind too much," she shrugged. "The Snargles always help me get it back. She says that my book is in the forth armour," she added belatedly.

Nodding, Harry went to retrieve it while looking around cautiously. There was no 'she' as far as he could see. However, when the armour did indeed contain the textbook, he decided that, perhaps, only Luna could see her.

"What else are you missing?" he asked, returning to her side.

By now, she had retrieved her quill and had tucked it behind her ear. "My slippers are in the girl's lavatory but I can get them later. My Charms homework is on a library shelf though."

"A Snargle told you all that?" he asked incredulously.

"Of course not," she said, walking past him. "Snargles don't like the library, Harry. Flitterbees do; the parchments remind them of grass."

"Right," Harry murmured, grabbing his bag as he followed her.

"You don't have somewhere to go?" she inquired without turning around.

"Not really," he shrugged, falling in step beside her. "How are your classes?"

"They are fine."

"Even Transfigurations?"

She cocked her head slightly at that. "Perhaps not that," she allowed. "The cat lady is so sad. I find it distracting. But that will change soon," she added, playing with her hair.

Harry's eyebrows rose at that. Professor McGonagall was sad? Luna's judgement was questionable on this. The only thing sad was what they were enduring in her classroom. Nevertheless, arguing with Luna was a pointless endeavour – she would only smile in that dreamy way of hers before turning the conversation in another direction completely.

"I'm going to help Daddy document magical creatures inIrelandfor Christmas," she said suddenly.

"Leprechauns?" he asked teasingly.

"Yes," she confirmed, in all seriousness. "Daddy's noticed that all sightings have been of male leprechauns. We're going to look for female ones and see if we can find some baby ones as well."

"You do this often?"

"Every few months," she responded. "Less now that I'm at Hogwarts. Daddy doesn't want to go without me so he's focussing entirely on our newspaper for now. Have you ever read it?"

"No," Harry admitted.

He never read the news – he didn't understand half of it anyway. The most he did was peer over his guardian's shoulder on occasion. Moving pictures were still a novelty for him after all.

"I'll have Daddy send you one," she said brightly. "Neville really liked his!"

"Thank you."

"I can find it from here," she told him when they reached the library. "You don't have to come in with me."

"Are you sure?" he asked. "I really don't mind doing so."

"It's okay," she reassured him. "Besides, we aren't allowed to carry bags in with us anymore remember?"

That rule had been enforced for about two weeks now after two third years had released a bag of frogs in the library near some first year Hufflepuffs. The librarian had reacted with voracity and now bags were contraband items. No one dared to test her on it and Harry was not about to do so now.

"That's true," he agreed. "I'll see you at dinner then. You're eating at our table tonight?"

"I will," she confirmed before heading into the library. "I don't think that you will though," she added once the door closed behind her. Snargles were never wrong about such things after all.

*

"Harry!" Colin Creevey called, waving him over. "I've got some new pictures. Come see!"

"You always have new pictures," Harry chuckled as he heeded his call.

Colin was one of the first years who occasionally joined them whenever they were playing around with magical games. A muggleborn like Hermione, he found any and everything about the wizarding world, so much so that he constantly carried around a muggle camera with him to capture every nuance about it. Recently though, his focus had shifted to people, and thus Harry often found himself dodging his camera.

Despite that minor annoyance, Harry genuinely liked Colin – he vaguely reminded him of a neighbour's child atPrivet Drive. On one occasion, he had wandered into the Dursley's yard after his ball had rolled over into it. At the time, Harry had been diligently pruning the garden, and the boy had observed him for a while before inviting him to play ball with him. That, of course, had never materialised. Nevertheless, he had treasured the moment. As such, he was considerably more tolerant toward Colin than many other students, and thus, had gained the boy's admiration.

"Who did you manage to get this time?" he inquired knowingly.

The eleven year old was sitting cross-legged on the corridor, and, without thought, Harry dropped down beside him, taking the offered photograph.

"I got a bunch of Professors' pictures," he said excitedly. "See. This one is Professor Flitwick. He's talking to a portrait. And here is Mrs. Norris...I had to run after taking it because Filch was coming."

Obediently, Harry took and observed each one as they were passed to him, making the requisite appreciative noises that Colin expected. Eventually though, the boy produced a picture that Harry was genuinely interested in, and he found himself staring at it with a small smile on his face.

"How did you get this?" he asked, slightly surprised.

Gently, he ran a finger down the picture. In the still image, he saw his guardians together. The potions master was leaning against a windowsill, his arms loosely folded. His head was tilted slightly, and there was a mild sneer on his face as he looked at the headmaster. They were near his office, Harry decided, basing the judgement of the gargoyle statue near them. The headmaster was wearing lime green robes, and the expression on his face was decidedly mischievous, Harry thought. His right hand was on the potions master's shoulder, while he waggled the other before his face. The young wizard barely resisted a snicker at the sight. The headmaster often did that when he was teasing Professor Snape. The man usually responded by batting the appendage away.

"I turned the flash off," Colin explained, his voice lowering slightly. "And I ran right after. I'm going to have to get rid of it though."

"What? Why?" Harry demanded, instinctively, holding the picture closer to him. Why on earth did the boy want to destroy it? For him, it was the most precious of the bunch.

Colin shrugged. "A prefect saw it earlier," he explained. "She said that Snape would go ballistic if he saw it. I really don't want to get detention from him, and you know how word spreads. If he found out I had a picture of him – far less one where the headmaster was scolding him, I'll be in trouble for months! But this way – even if he finds out, there's no proof right? So I got to get rid of it."

"Can I have it then?" Harry asked. "I mean, if you don't want it?"

Colin stared at him for a moment before a broad smile creased his face. "Oh thank you, Harry," he exclaimed, startling the older wizard by hugging him tightly.

"Err..."

"You don't want me to get in trouble do you?" he continued, completely unaware of Harry's confusion. "But you don't want me to throw away my work, right? I do like the picture – it's candid – but I'm too afraid to keep it. But you're not afraid," he added adoringly.

Harry blinked at the boy's words before shrugging mentally. He wanted the picture, and, this way, Colin would not question exactly why he was interested in a picture of the two men.

"Sure, Colin," he agreed, smiling at him. "I'll take good care of the picture."

"I know you will! Thank you!"

"I should be thanking you," Harry thought as he put the picture aside.

"Would you like to see a couple my Da sent?" he asked, already reaching for a different folder. "He's promised to get me a magical camera for Christmas – I can't wait for that. Look, this is my mom and this is Dennis. He's my little brother and I really hope he's a wizard too. Professor Flitwick said it was rare though and he hasn't done any magic yet. Not that I did either. My Da thought he was bonkers when he came to our house."

The eleven year old dropped the folder on Harry's lap, moving closer so that he could point to the people as Harry went through them. Even as he nodded at the boy's comments, Harry felt a small amount of jealously rise up within him. The boy had the perfect family if the pictures were any indication. All of them were of a happy, loving family. More than once, both boys were in embraces with one or both parents. Harry lingered for a moment on one with the two brothers seated side by side amidst their toys.

He had never had this. The closest he had come to a toy was when he was cleaning up after Dudley, and Merlin help him if he lingered too long over any. Looking at Colin's family was painful, and he had to remind himself that he was happy now. Yes, he did not have such a wonderful childhood, but the future looked bright for him. There was no need to grudge someone else their happiness. With that in mind, he stamped down the last vestiges of envy and was able to laugh with Colin over a picture of his brother in a pond with a lily pad on his head. His expression was priceless.

"I think you'd look good like that, Colin," Harry teased, wrinkling his nose at the younger boy.

"I think you will as well," he declared. Reaching down, he grabbed an empty folder and opened it on Harry's head. "Perfect!"

"It's more your colour," Harry said pertly, tossing his head.

After a moment, the pair broke down into gales of laughter.

"What exactly is going on here?" a stern voice said, cutting across their mirth.

Both boys stiffened in tandem, sharing alarmed looks before turning toward the voice. Standing near them was Professor McGonagall, a decidedly disciplinary look on her face as she frowned down at them.

"P-professor," Harry stammered, scrambling to his feet, with Colin right behind. "We were just looking at some pictures."

"My Da sent them," Collin added.

The woman spared Colin a glance before focussing solely on Harry. Her piercing look caused him to swallow anxiously. "Have you any idea the number of rules you are breaking currently?"

"R-rules, Professor?"

"Yes, Potter. This is an institution, not some alley. How dare you go about making such a ruckus?"

Harry was not entirely sure what a 'ruckus' was, but he gathered from her tone that it meant nothing good.

"We weren't that loud, Professor," Colin volunteered from beside him before quailing at her glare.

"I will be the judge of that, young man," she chided. "Regardless, I was speaking to Potter here. Kindly be quiet unless spoken too."

"Yes, ma'am."

"As I was saying, Potter, you know better than to carouse about the corridors like this. More than that, the corridors are made for walking, not sitting, and certainly not for making a mess as the two of you have done. I hold you accountable for this, Potter," she continued, "Mr. Creevey is still new here, and so it is easy to forgive him. You, on the other hand, know better. How dare you lead a first year astray like this? I am ashamed of you and I am certain that your guardian would be as well.

"Are you trying to be an embarrassment; sitting around on the ground like some current urchin. Look at your robes! They're filthy from the ground! And your hair! Are you above basic grooming, Potter?"

Harry had started paling rapidly from the moment the woman had mentioned the headmaster, and not simply because Colin was here. Was the woman right? Was he really embarrassing the headmaster? He could not look down to examine his clothing himself, but truly, he had no reason to doubt the witch. As for his hair, he had been using the enchanted brush, but he had taken to running his hand through it when thinking. It was a habit he knew he should break; he had seen the potions master's face crease with disdain the few times he had done it around him.

Harry lowered his head dejectedly, more focussed on his thoughts than the woman's scolding. That was until she snapped. "Have you no manners either? Look at me when I speak, boy!"

Later on, Harry would realise that the word "boy" was what triggered his reaction. The word, added to her sharp intonation of it, threw him back to his deceased aunt. His name was never used in the house. He was either boy or freak. He had gotten in trouble a few times at primary school for not responding in a timely manner during role. The truth was, he had grown so unused to his name that it had taken some time to remember that he was 'Harry' and not just 'Freak'.

Thus, when the woman all but spat "boy" at him, Harry flinched, bracing himself for the blow that always accompanied such a harsh tone. Another person might have docked, but Harry knew better. Never dodge the blow - it simply resulted in more.

"What are you doing, boy?" the woman demanded, a hint of impatience creeping into her tone.

Harry did not acknowledge the question though and only cringed again. He must have been particularly bad, his mind whispered, for Aunt Petunia to still be lecturing him like this. The longer the lecture, the longer the punishment, and even as his fear built, Harry felt himself growing resigned to waiting for the pain to begin.

"Potter, cease this immediately," the woman demanded as the boy continued to stare despondently downwards. "Look at me. Potter!"

"What in Merlin's name are you doing, woman?"

He knew that voice.

It was Professor Snape.

Harry grew confused as he heard the man speaking, and slowly he raised his head to see him walking swiftly down the corridor, a worried looking Fawkes on his shoulder. The man though looked furious – indeed, it was the angriest he could ever recall him being. Beside him, Colin whimpered, and Harry looked at him, slightly dazed. He wasn't at Privet Drive? Harry moaned slightly, reaching up to touch his temple. Everything was jumbled and he was having trouble keeping everything in its right place. He was in Hogwarts, in the corridor. He had been with Colin until the Transfigurations Professor reached them.

So why did he think of his aunt – his dead Aunt?

It was only when the witch spoke again – her biting words now directed at the potions master – that he made the connection. He had envisioned his aunt in her place and by association had mentally retreated toPrivet Drive. Even now, he was not completely free of the pull of his memories. The potions master had reached him, and, after sparing a glance to Colin, had put a hand on his shoulder. Instinctively he flinched, something that only angered the man further. The hand did not move though.

"Potter," he said, "look at me."

His tone demanded obedience, and, hesitantly, Harry heeded him. He felt a gentle poke at his mind, one that he had grown used to given his Occlumency lessons with the headmaster. He allowed the man to enter his mind. The man withdrew almost immediately.

"Go home," he ordered, before turning to Colin. "Dismissed, Creevey."

"You have no right," Professor McGonagall started, only to be cut off by the potions master interjecting, "Not now, woman!"

Colin looked to Harry for advice. Which teacher were they supposed to listen to?

"Go," Snape reasserted, and that decided it for Harry.

He would listen to his guardian over his Head of House any day.

He nodded his agreement, not trusting himself to talk. The man released the grip on him, and shakily he turned and started gathering his belongings. A look at Colin had him scurrying to pack his bag as well, and, after haphazardly grabbing the rest, he all but ran down the hallway after shooting Harry a last look.

"Straight home, Potter," the potions master added, and Harry nodded shakily before fleeing down the corridor, leaving the potions master to deal with the witch.

"Follow him, Fawkes," he ordered the phoenix.

The magical bird bobbed his head at him before flying off behind Potter. It had been Fawkes who had alerted him that something was wrong with the boy in the first place. He had been correcting papers in his office when Fawkes had flashed in, startling him by immediately projecting into his mind images of Harry and Minerva. The bird had been following him around apparently – something that Severus was now grateful for. The last image he saw – that of the colour steadily draining from Potter's face – had left him biting off an oath, even as he grabbed on to Fawkes' tale.

Walking would have taken too long.

Too concerned for Potter, Fawkes did not even protest at the rough treatment before flashing them into the corridor. His concern for the boy had transformed into anger as the woman's words reached his ears. How dare the witch, he thought darkly, as he looked at her now. From the start he knew that she had problems with the guardianship. She had seen the displeasure on her face the day Albus had told her. Never though, did he anticipate her taking it out on Potter. But apparently, her scruples were lower than he had thought. To directly attack Potter as she had done. . . . His temper rose again just thinking about it.

"Severus," she snapped, "how dare you intervene in a disciplinary matter? This is a clear case of favouritism toward Potter and I will not have it."

"I saw what he supposedly did," he returned icily. "Are you in the habit of creating rules as it suits you? As much as the dunderheads annoy me, have you ever heard me accost a student for laughing, for sitting?"

The woman stiffened, confirming Severus' belief that she had just taken the opportunity to attack Potter to spite his guardians. "They were obstructing the corridor."

"With what?" he shot back. "A troll could have done a Quick Step beside them."

"I will not be spoken to like this," she hissed. "I will report you to Albus for your lack of decorum."

Severus barked a dark laugh. "Please do," he bid, "for you will have to explain exactly what led to this. Perhaps I should tell him myself. I wonder who he would find fault with."

That cowed the woman slightly.

"You're as bad as Potter," she declared. "You think you're above proper rules, don't you? Just because you're his ward, his boy," she added mockingly. "Why don't you stop taking advantage of him, hmm? Another headmaster would have fired you years ago for the way you treat your students."

"Hello Pot, meet Kettle," he deadpanned.

The previous night, he had been inundated by complaints from his Slytherins regarding the woman. He had promised to thoroughly investigate their claims, before scolding them for letting it reach so far. How was he supposed to help them if they did not come to him? It was true that he did not care much for the dunderheads, however, it did not mean that he would not stand up for them. He had had a fool for a Head of House during his tenure at the school. He had long decided that his own students would not suffer the same fate.

Minerva obviously did not recognise the muggle saying, but it did not matter at the moment. "What are you accusing me of?" he asked, arching his eyebrow at her.

"You're taking advantage of him," she bit out, "and you're teaching Potter to do the same."

"Taking advantage?" he repeated.

"Yes," she snapped. "You're playing with his emotions. You know he'll do anything for you! You could dangle a student from the roof and he would give you a slap on the wrist."

"Thanks for the idea," he said dryly. "I do remember a student getting dangled from his ankle numerous times. I don't recall anyone intervening. But do continue. I find this conversation absolutely fascinating."

"You know damn well why Albus took you in," she hissed, taking a step closer to him to emphasis her point. "If Albus had never lost –"

"Shut up," he spat, cutting across her words. "Woman are you mad?"

He shot a pointed look behind her. Turning the woman paled slightly as she saw a number of students gawking at them. He cursed himself for not casting a privacy charm, but consoled himself with the fact that they had heard nothing too crucial. While the woman struggled to control her anger, he shot the students a cool look.

"Detention with Filch for anyone still here in ten seconds. Eight...nine... thought so," he added as they all but fled.

He should have warned them not to say anything about it, he thought belatedly, before shrugging it off. He doubted anyone was brave enough to do so.

"I have nothing more to say to you," he said, sparing the woman a glance. "And trust me, Albus will hear of this."

With those cryptic parting words, he walked off, leaving the woman staring after him.


	33. Chapter 33

Despite knowing that Potter was waiting for him in his quarters, Severus did not seek him out immediately. Instead, after walking off on his colleague, he had come to his office and dropped heavily into a chair. Sighing in frustration, he rocked back, looking absently at the ceiling as he tried to collect his thoughts. There was no use in speaking to Potter when his temper was on edge as it currently was. Neither was it feasible to simply floo Albus and turn the entire matter over to him. He had every intention of carrying out the threat he had made to Minerva, however, now was not the time. He had chosen to intervene in the situation, and thus, it was up to him to follow through and handle Potter.

"Damn the witch," he thought darkly as he straightened.

He was half tempted to take a swing of the flask of fire whiskey stored in his drawer, but he knew better than to do that. Alcohol solved nothing – to seek it every time he found himself in a stressful situation would make him no better than his father. He looked thoughtfully at the drawer, reminding himself why he even had the flask to start with. It helped prove how superior he was to Tobias. No matter how stressful his day – no matter how much he wanted to hex someone, he had never taken the flask from its resting place. He was not dependent on it to solve his problems. Knowing that never failed to improve his mood.

He was far from hopeless.

Looking away from the drawer, he refocused on the matter at hand. Exactly how was he supposed to deal with Potter? To a certain extent, the entire incident seemed surreal. Why on earth had the woman acted in that manner and toward Potter at that? He knew that she was fond of him – or rather the part of him that reminded her of Lily and James. Therefore, what could have moved her to that extreme a reaction? Had he not known Potter as well as did now, he would have been tempted to cast the blame on him.

But he did know the preteen, and there was absolutely nothing Potter could have done to warrant it. A brief glimpse into his memory had confirmed what Fawkes had already shown him. He and the Creevey boy had not been in the wrong. It was a school for Merlin's sake. Students always sprawled themselves in the corridors, especially when it was too cold to capitalise on the school's grounds. Yes, there were designated areas for relaxation, but students rarely used them, preferring to seek out their own spots. Minerva knew this very well. Hell, about two years ago she had thoroughly chided him when he had docked points from some first years playing hide and seek near his office.

"Let them be Severus," she had said, eyeing him sternly. "Let them enjoy the freedom that comes with youth, for it will soon be behind them."

What had happened to the witch who had uttered those words?

Although curious about it, Severus did not dwell too long on the matter. Albus could more than afford to play mind healer with the witch – his concern was for Potter. For, no matter what was wrong with the witch, he could not condone what she had done. It was one thing to unfairly assign punishment (for a long while he had been guilty of the same thing) but to drag Potter's personal life into it was an entirely different matter. Worse yet, she had addressed it in a public sphere. Merlin alone knew how many students had been privy to her words on their way down the corridor. Not to mention Creevey. Half of Gryffindor probably knew what had occurred by now, and, come morning, so would the rest of the school.

The rumours surrounding Potter had abated yes, but, from experience, he knew that it could start up again. The novelty of his wandless magic had faded, and, once the first years had gotten their fill of the wizarding world's hero, they had left him well alone. Not that Potter was as bothered by the attention as he had been previously. He had friends now, and, running about the place with them was a suitable distraction from the few whispers that still followed him. More than that, Severus had gotten the distinct impression that Longbottom and Granger (whom he had reluctantly released his suspicion for) were actively shielding Potter from all of the attention. Whether Potter was aware of it was another matter entirely, although, given his keen perceptiveness, he was certain that the preteen had at least an inkling of what they were doing.

However, all of that would be for naught if anyone, if only Creevey, decided to 'share' the information he had gotten from the woman's words. It was true that there was very little context to go on, but rumours only needed the barest hint of truth. Severus could envision the speculation that could erupt regarding who exactly was Potter's guardian. Worse was the fact that he had told him to 'go home'. Had Creevey picked up on that...did he think that he was Potter's guardian? Or would he simply assume that he knew who it was?

Severus stifled a groan at that before rising. He was getting frustrated simply thinking of it. How badly off would Potter be if he actually had to live with that? He would hex Minerva if anything arose, he decided, and damned be the consequences. The woman had jeopardised the boy's privacy, and she would rue it if what he believed truly came to pass.

Nevertheless, he told himself as he headed out the door, he could no longer think about that – at least for now. Potter had been alone for quite some time now – too long actually. He had to check on him and dispel whatever notions the woman had filled his head with. He could only hope that she had not done too much damage to him. Potter had come so far; it would be a tragedy if something like this set back his progress.

Severus stood for a moment at the entrance to his personal quarters, squaring his shoulders. This would be difficult, but it was his duty. For all that he was fond of the boy, he still preferred to leave this aspect to Albus. He had a more hands-off approach. He was always available for a word, and patiently listened to whatever Potter had to say. He even offered his own brand of affection – head pats, hair ruffling, and the occasional flick to his nose whenever the boy was being particularly endearing. He highly doubted he could get away with just that now. Undoubtedly, Potter would want the kind of assurances that Albus preferred – hugs, snuggles and backrubs; just thinking of it made him want to go find the man.

He simply was not affectionate – at least to that extent. Potter's presence had mellowed him somewhat, but still...he preferred to maintain his own personal space.

Deciding that he had lingered long enough, Severus uttered the password and entered. He saw the preteen immediately. He was sitting on an armchair, Fawkes on his lap, looking blankly into the fireplace.

"Potter?"

The boy looked up at once, Fawkes flying off him seconds later. Meeting his eyes, Severus felt some relief. The boy was upset, that was a given, but there was neither panic nor pure misery in his eyes. An upset, confused Potter was something he could easily handle. Motioning for him to remain where he was, Severus crossed the room. He pulled a chair, positioning it so that he sat directly opposite the boy.

As he watched, Potter nibbled nervously on his lower lip, not meeting his eyes. Patiently, Severus waited, and, when Potter was certain that no immediate rebuke was coming, he tentatively looked up to meet his piercing gaze.

"Am I in trouble?" he asked softly.

"With me, or your head of house?"

"Both?" he offered hesitantly. "Are you mad at me?"

"Why on earth would I be angry at you?" Severus asked sharply, before gentling his tone at Potter's minute flinch. Reaching out, he tapped his nose gently. "Talk to me, child," he bid, purposely using the endearment. It served its purpose, relaxing the boy. After all, Severus could not be too mad at him if he was still calling him by an affectionate name, right? "Come now," he continued. "You know you can speak to me about anything."

"I-I know," Harry confirmed, wringing his hands in his lap until Severus stopped him. "But – you should be mad at me. I didn't listen to what you told me."

Severus frowned. What exactly was Potter talking about? "Elaborate please," he bid, leaning back slightly.

Harry gave him a slightly confused look before responding. "Your rules, sir," he explained. "I didn't do what you said I should. I-I didn't stand up for myself. You had to help me."

Severus stared at him for a moment before the memory returned to him. Right, he thought, he had given Potter a list of 'rules' regarding how he should act in public. It was heartening to know that, weeks later, Potter still remembered and apparently followed them, but still...

"Potter," he said, trying to keep derision from his tone. "Do you honestly think I would fault you for not 'listening' as you put it?"

"But-"

"Child," Severus sighed. "I am not mad at you. No, let me finish. I never meant for you to act that way toward your teachers...that would be disrespectful. Mind you, I never thought that you would end up being bullied by a teacher – yes, child, what she did bordered on bullying. Nevertheless, we're not on that matter currently. You are a student, Potter, and unfortunately, in situations as you were in, there is very little you can do – at the moment. Therefore, I am not mad that you did not rebut her words, or walked away. Both would have landed you in more trouble. Do you understand the difference? Teachers cannot be handled in the way you would deal with your schoolmates."

Potter looked at him for a long moment, seeming to process what he had been told. "There are different rules for different people then?"

"Regretfully, yes," he agreed. "But while we are on the topic, I will say this. Professor McGonagall should not have spoken to you in that manner, far less have brought up your personal life – especially where she did it. I applaud you for maintaining control as you did. A lesser person – myself included – would have found themselves in detention for weeks had certain words been directed toward a professor, no matter how warranted."

As he watched, Potter shook his head. "I wasn't angry, sir," he admitted. "I was scared. That's why I didn't do anything."

"Scared of what Potter?" he pressed. "Of her? Her words?"

The preteen did not answer, but instead started to wring his hands again until Severus cleared his throat pointedly. "S-sorry," he apologised. The rest was mumbled so softly that Severus was unable to discern it.

"Again please," he bid. "I need to hear your words, child."

The endearment once again proved the catalyst, and this time, Potter's words were easily understandable. "I thought she was Aunt Petunia."

"You thought that she would hit you," Severus said correctly, carefully restraining the anger that boiled to the surface at her name.

"Yes, sir."

"Potter," the potions master said seriously, "No one, absolutely no one is allowed to hit you. It would violate their oath as a teacher and they can be held accountable for it."

"But I'm –"

"I'm going to stop you there, Potter," Severus interrupted smoothly, "before you earn yourself some lines from me. Professor McGonagall may have brought forth some of your negative memories, but you are not to give them precedence. That part of your life is over, along with everything you have learnt. You are not a freak, you are not evil incarnate. You do not deserve to be hit – no matter what you do."

"But sir –" Harry began before breaking off with a decidedly confused expression on his face.

"What is it?" he asked patiently. He would sit here the entire night if necessary, until Potter believed in what he was saying.

"No teacher can hit me?" Harry asked.

"None."

"Not even you?"

A brief chill ran down Severus' spine at the mere thought of him lifting a hand against the boy but he firmly repressed it. "Especially not me," he confirmed. "The same holds true for the headmaster. No one may cause you pain."

"I don't understand then."

"What is there to understand?"

Harry frowned. "You're my guardians..."

"We are."

"How can you not hit me then? Aren't you going to beat me when I'm bad?"

Severus was dumbfounded by the boy's words; however, even as he tried to find the right words, Potter continued speaking.

"Neville said that his Gran smacks him when he does something really bad. And Ron told Seamus that his mom has a special spoon that she uses...So how can you not beat me? That's what you do."

Maybe he was wrong about the friend issue, Severus thought dryly. Perhaps Potter was better off living in his own little world. At least then he would not have anyone else to draw comparisons with. How exactly was he supposed to explain this? Although, he acknowledged, this was probably a long overdue conversation. After all, unless he had missed it, neither of them had expressly assured Potter that he would not be physically dealt with. It was a given – but perhaps Potter had not realised that?

"Adults have varying methods when it comes to raising children," he responded carefully. "Some of which Albus and I do not agree with. There will be no beatings, or smackings or whatever other synonym you can find. You will not be hurt under our care. Does that clear it up?"

Potter looked thoughtful for a moment before he nodded hesitantly.

"Good," Severus praised, "now I believe we can return to your original question."

"I've forgotten it," Harry admitted with a slight blush.

"It's expected," Severus acknowledged, "our conversation has already touched on several topics. Now I believed you asked 'Am I in trouble?' to which I can say, the answer is no. You will face no repercussions from the Professor for, as, you may have heard me say, you and Creevey did nothing wrong."

"Then why did she act that way?" Harry asked, a hint of distress in his voice.

Obviously the boy dreaded a repeat. The fear was just, especially as he had the woman tomorrow morning. Not that she would be anything but the picture of politeness, he thought.

"I can't speak for her," Severus told him, "nor is it truly my place to discuss a colleague with a student. Nevertheless, I can say that her actions were uncalled for. Can you satisfy yourself with that, Potter?"

"What if she does it again? Classes are bad enough already..."

Severus' eyebrow rose at that. He was certain Potter had not realised exactly what had revealed. Nevertheless, he capitalised on it. "In what way, child?" he inquired. "Why are you finding her classes difficult?"

Potter nipped his lip lightly. It was obvious that he did not want to speak, but, after a directive he reluctantly did so. Severus noted that the boy's words matched almost precisely the complaints of his Slytherins. It was only slightly relieving to note that the treatment was being meted out to all students, and not just his own, but it was disconcerting nonetheless. Something was truly wrong with Minerva. Regardless, there was one crucial point that needed addressing.

"How long has this been going on, Potter?" he asked.

"Since the third week I think," he admitted. "It's getting worse though."

"Since September then," he stated. When the boy nodded, he continued. "Then why is this the first time I'm hearing of this? Unless you've already gone to Albus?" That he doubted. The headmaster still could not resist sharing anything he deemed important about the boy. This certainly would have come up for discussion in one of their tea sessions.

"I-I haven't," Potter admitted, looking downward.

Severus reached across and tilted his head up. "None of that," he bid. "Now tell me. Why haven't you told me – us, anything? You've had ample opportunity to do so."

As Severus watched, the boy's shoulders slumped. What exactly was going on in his head?

"I didn't want to disappoint you," Potter finally stated.

"Disappoint you?"

"I talked to Hermione about it," he continued. "You would be disappointed because I was doing badly. So I didn't say anything but kept working harder and harder. But my marks have only gotten worse."

Severus arched an eyebrow at the boy's words. "First of all, you will be delivering your essays to Albus as soon as possible. His forte is Transfigurations, not mine."

"Yes, sir," Potter agreed, rather despondently.

"Don't look so woebegone," he bid. "He will not be mad at you. Disappointed perhaps, as I am, but not for the reason you think. No, let me speak. Potter, I believe you when you said that you've been working hard on Transfigurations. Therefore, why would we fault you? Had these 'bad' grades come because of a lack of effort on your part, or even sheer laziness, we would be having a conversation of a different kind. As is, I am only disappointed in the fact that you did not come to either one of us.

"That is what we are here for, Harry. You are our responsibility. However, we cannot give you the assistance you need unless you tell us when something is wrong. Otherwise, we would be forced to treat you like a small child, forever looking over your shoulder. You wouldn't like it if I started insisting that I check your homework every evening, now would you?"

"I suppose not," Potter said.

Perhaps, Severus thought wryly, it would have been more of a threat had the boy not been mistreated in his youth. As is, he would probably find such an occurrence novel and would not find it the least bit cumbersome.

"Good," he nodded. "So I do not want a reoccurrence of this, alright? We are here for you, Potter, and it is our job to help you through any difficulties you may have."

"B-because you care?" Potter asked.

"Because we care, silly child," he agreed, flicking his nose.

He was relieved when Potter gave him a real smile this time. "Thank you, sir," he said sincerely.

"You are very welcomed, Potter," he returned, glad that the entire matter was concluded.

The entire conversation had not been as bad as it could have been, he decided with some pride. Potter seemed perfectly content now. Indeed, as Fawkes rejoined him on the chair, nuzzling him, the twelve year old laughed softly before petting him.

"You two are getting along," he noted as he rose.

"He's been following me around," Potter chuckled. "I'm not sure but he's really helpful."

"Oh?"

"He brought me my quill yesterday – I had left it in the library. Plus, he wakes me up if he thinks I'll be late for class."

Severus turned to eye the playful phoenix suspiciously. Fawkes eyed him innocently before pointedly tickling Potter's neck. "How noble of him," he said dryly. "Are you staying for the night?"

"It's not Wednesday."

"I know," he shrugged. "Regardless, I'm asking if you want to stay. I'd rather you not be around McGonagall until this whole thing is resolved."

"She's never in the Tower," Potter said. "But I'll stay if you want me to."

"Then you'll stay," he decided. "Besides," he added to himself, "I did say that you were going 'home'. It would be strange for you to show up at the Tower after that."

"Yes, sir," Potter responded. "I was going to visit Hedwig today, but it's okay. I'll carry some extra bacon for her tomorrow. She really loves – Oww!"

Severus spun around at the boy's exclamation, his eyes narrowing when he found him cradling his hand.

"Fawkes pecked me!" he complained, looking morosely at the phoenix that was now glaring at him.

"Fawkes!" Severus scolded, "have you gone mad?"

The phoenix shot him a disgruntled look before flying off Potter. Seconds later, he left the room in a ball of flames.

"Let me see," Severus bid, reaching him.

"It's not too bad," Potter told him, even as he allowed him to grip his hand carefully. "It surprised me though."

"Indeed," the potions master agreed. The spot was slightly reddened, but would fade within minutes. What possessed the bird to do it in the first place though was beyond him. He patted the spot before releasing his hand. "Why don't you go change? I'll fetch some of my things for the office to work on in the interim."

"Yes, sir," Potter agreed before scurrying off.

Shaking his head, Severus returned to the kitchen area. His conversation with Albus would certainly be a long one.

*

Albus could tell already that today would be a long, tiresome day. Already he had cancelled the morning classes – something that had caused quite a stir among the students. That never happened, and they rightly assumed that something important had, or would happen over the course of the morning. It was the most prudent thing to do. Minerva had back to back classes for the entire duration, and more than that, he had called for an important staff meeting at ten. Thus, he had decided to allow the students the time for themselves. A half day truly could not do too much damage to the teaching schedule after all.

Sighing, Albus checked the time. It was ten to nine. He had told Minerva to meet him here at the top of the hour. Truthfully, the headmaster dreaded what he was about to do. His staff was more than mere employees to him; they were family. Minerva especially held a special place in his heart. To date, he still considered her as being the most talented student that had passed through his class, and she had never failed to live up to his expectations. When he assumed the role of headmaster, he had declared her his successor the moment her application had appeared before him. The interview was a mere formality – truly it just gave him the opportunity to find out what she had been doing since her tenure at Hogwarts. He had not been disappointed.

She had risen quickly through the ranks. Within five years she had become a Head of House, and two years after that, she had become his Deputy, positions she still held to this date. And so, he had been shocked – terribly so – by the slew of negative reports that had poured in about her. Severus' was the last of three, the first two having come from Filius and Pomona respectively. Filius had come with the score sheets of his house, and, even as Albus looked through them with alarm, the man had relayed the complaints of his students.

Barely had he promised to look into it, had Pomona stormed in, her face flushed with anger. Minerva had assigned two of her Hufflepuffs three detention for running in the hallway. She too, after glancing at Filius, had asked an elf to bring her records to her, showing the failing grades of ninety percent of her house. Still, it was only when an angry Severus had met with him that night, confirming the other professors' words while adding an account of her interaction with Harry, that he knew that he could not afford to let the situation escalate any further.

He pinched the bridge of his nose wearily, wishing that he had taken a potion from Severus when he had seen him. He had been up the majority of the night, pouring through detention and academic records that he rarely looked at. The up-keeping of them was Minerva's job after all – he only checked them when the whim suited him. Now, he wished he had been more diligent. Had he been, he would have noticed the discrepancies a lot earlier and would not have had it thrown into his face like this.

A slight grating sound from beyond the door alerted him that the statues were allowing entrance. Steeling himself for the unpleasant task to come, Albus bid her entrance when her brisk knock came. She sat stiffly when he invited her to, tersely refusing his offer of lemon drops and tea. Both were well aware that this was not a mere social call, but regardless, the headmaster was striving for a hint of normalcy.

"I think you know why I called you here," he began gently, a grandfatherly air about him.

That demeanour never failed to relax an uncomfortable person in his presence, and it was for that very reason that he had perfected it. Nevertheless, on Minerva it failed.

"I imagine Professor Snape mentioned our disagreement yesterday," she responded stiffly.

"Actually," he corrected, "that is one of the lesser reasons I asked you to see me today," at least in my official capacity, he silently added. "What I want to discuss is your job performance so far in the term."

The woman frowned slightly. "My job performance, Albus? Why is that up for scrutiny? If anything, I would expect you to be talking to Sybil. That woman –"

"Has not been marking students almost vindictively, my dear," he cut across smoothly.

The witch opened her mouth to speak, but said nothing as he turned the records to face her. "Can you explain to me why collectively, only twelve percent of the student body passed their last assignment from you? Might I add that all of those who fall in that bracket are upper years, and that none achieved higher than an Acceptable. More than that, please explain why you see it fit to mark the students' assignments with a criteria set quite higher than required for their level?"

Reaching for one of the parchments Filius had left with him, he unfolded it. "This is a third year's essay. The theories you cited as being lacking are taught at the fifth year level. Why then, did you expect the student to know it? And then, there is this seventh year's essay. I believe the limitations of Morgana's Theories of Transfigurations are not dealt with until the Apprenticeship level? Unless, you have made Mr. Rogers your apprentice and I am not aware of it?"

The witch said nothing. Looking at her, Albus noted the way her lips were pressed tightly together. Whether it was done in anger or otherwise, he was not entirely certain. Whatever the reason, Albus felt his grandfatherly mask slip away. There was no hint of remorse in the woman, no sign of her acknowledging her wrong doing. It was as if the woman believed herself fully justified in what she had done, and he was not about to stand for it.

"I suggest you speak now, Minerva," he invited.

"What exactly do you want me to say sir?" she asked, her eyes flickering from the documents spread before her to his face. "It's apparent you have already judged me guilty. Professor Snape must have –"

"This has nothing to do with Severus and everything to do with you," he said coolly. "And for your information, these were brought to me by Filius and Pomona, so any grudge you may think Severus has against you is unfounded. It pains me though that you would accuse me of favouritism."

The woman's eyes widened slightly and she seemed to take in the various documents with a new light. Obviously, she was only now realising that the record books were of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, the essays coming from Ravenclaw as well. For a moment he regretted disclosing the names of her colleagues, but then he dismissed it. She would have found out eventually, and, perhaps it was better that she knew up front. The fact that they were the people she considered herself to be the closest to on staff might help her realise exactly how dismal a situation she had created.

When the woman did nothing more than stare at his desk he issued a sigh. He was beginning to see what Severus had offhandedly mentioned the night before. There was more to this issue than he knew of. This was not simply a case of vindictiveness toward the student body on the woman's behalf. Something was pushing her to act in this way. Where was his good-natured deputy? A witch who willingly confided in him and performed her job to the best of her ability? The woman sitting before him definitely was not her.

"Talk to me, Minerva," he urged. "Not me the headmaster, but just me, Albus. Tell me what's wrong. What is causing you to act this way, my dear?"

The woman blinked, undoubtedly caught off guard by his change in attitude. Regardless, she spoke, her voice lacking its previous stiffness. Although, Albus noted, her changed demeanour could also have resulted from Fawkes who had started singing a soothing melody from his perch.

"I've been under a lot of stress lately," she admitted, "because of Madison. "

"Madison?" Albus repeated, remembering the woman's second daughter. "Is she still ill?"

The last time he had seen her was on her wedding day, almost fifteen years ago if he remembered correctly. She had married straight out of Hogwarts, something that he suspected had always disappointed Minerva. But, hadn't Madison recovered from her illness, the very one that had sent Minerva hurrying home for during the summer? He had thought she had – Minerva had said something along those lines when he had inquired anyway. Had she been hiding something from him?

"Yes and no," the woman responded sadly. "She caught a relatively new strain of the Dragon Pox. It wasn't deadly, thank Merlin, but the healers predicted that she won't be entirely herself for weeks yet. Her skin's still green, although not as vivid as before."

"That's good news."

"It is," she shrugged. "By August the worst was over, which is why I thought it fine for me to return to Hogwarts."

"Has she had a relapse?" he asked.

The woman gave a dry laugh. "She's pregnant," she said bitterly, "a little over two months at this time."

Albus would have expected the woman to be radiant about such a fact. A grandchild was nothing to be angry about. Regardless, the way she was stressing on the word…it might as well be a curse. Before he could press for information though, she continued speaking.

"Two months pregnant. That child was conceived in August for Merlin's sake. She was still ill! The danger that husband of hers has put her in. How dare he take advantage of her that way? She was recuperating, perfectly so, but now? Now she's on permanent bed-rest and has to drink at least eight different potions a day. She's barely in a condition to take care of herself, now she has to worry about keeping the baby healthy. The child could be born with defects, only because John couldn't keep his bloody pecker in check."

The woman's voice rose in intensity, but Albus said nothing. This was building up within the woman for some time, he realised. Perhaps, she had never vocalised her feelings to anyone until now. It was no wonder she was stressed. Worrying about a daughter and unborn grandchild, while simultaneously detesting the father could not be an easy thing to manage.

"And then he has the nerve to tell me to come home and help her. It's his fault she's in this position in the first place," she raged. "How can he expect me to just drop everything and come home? I have my responsibilities to fulfil. And do you know what he tells me? He says that it's obvious that I really don't care about Madison. He's the one that doesn't care! And now Madison wants me home as well. Obviously he's not taking care of her, but I can't just leave."

That, Albus realised instantly, was the root cause of her behaviour. It was obvious that, despite her anger, the witch wanted to be with her daughter during this difficult period. He knew the witch well enough to be certain that she would not let her dislike for the husband affect her relationship with her child. That meant that the only true restriction that prevented her from leaving was her job. That would explain it, her aggressive behaviour toward the students, the ridiculous expectations she placed on them. She was – consciously or otherwise – venting her frustration on those whom were keeping her back from fulfilling her heart's desire.

There was only one solution to the situation he knew, and truthfully, it did fit into what he had originally planned to do. Although, based on what she was stating, he was not sure if she would see it as a disciplinary consequence, and not just as a personal favour to her.

He waited patiently until the woman's rant died down, and, looking at her, he decided that she was a lot better off for it. She seemed lighter somehow, as if some of her burdens had been shed. It was a pity he had not noticed it sooner he lamented before he reminded himself that he was only human. There was no way he could know or circumvent every little thing that happened…it was a bitter pill to swallow.

"I'm sorry," Minerva said shakily. "I didn't mean to speak like that. My personal life has no part to do with this."

"I asked you to," he pointed out. "And I am glad that you did, for now I have a better grasp of the situation. I needed to hear all sides of the story before I came to a decision. Now, I am in the position to do so."

Albus doubted that Minerva was aware of all the ramifications of her actions for the past term. Perhaps, she wouldn't for some time until her personal issues were settled and she had time to think with a clear head. Nevertheless, he was aware of the strain she had put on the students, and would be putting on the staff and himself for the foreseeable future. It was not something he could dismiss, even though he could sympathise with her. The true mark of a professional was an individual who could properly manage both their private and public life, without either being affected. His Transfigurations Professor had resoundingly failed at that task, and, as much as he was loathe to do so, the consequences for it had to be borne.

"It is clear to me that you have failed to perform many of your duties as expected of you. From the samples provided to me, you are jeopardising the students' education by your overly high expectations. More than that, your classroom demeanour leaves a lot to be desired, as does your disciplinary record. Based on both the school records and provided accounts, I have found that the majority of the punishments you assigned were undeserved.

"More than that, you have also failed in your duty as head of house. You have yet to perform a single house check, although I have given express notice that I expect them to be performed nightly unless a good reason can be provided. The safety of my students is paramount, Professor, I cannot have someone on staff who fails to see the importance of such a duty."

"Am I being dismissed then?" she asked, squaring her shoulders.

She was as knowledgeable as him regarding the code of ethics and the list of offences he had rattled off was quite extensive.

"I believe that I have adequate grounds to dismiss you," he said plainly, "at this time though, I will not do so."

A flicker of emotion passed over the woman's face, but it was gone before the headmaster could place it.

"I am suspending you," he continued, "although you will have your full wages for October."

"How long am I suspended for?" she asked rigidly.

"The remainder of the term," he said. "Your actual return date though, depends entirely on you. I ask though, that you send me at least a week's notice before that time."

The woman gave him a dumbfounded look.

Albus dropped his professional act somewhat, offering her a small smile. "If I suspend you for more than four months, the board has the right to terminate your employment. I do not want that. While I do not condone your actions, I can sympathise with your situation. Therefore, you will be suspended until December; however, as a friend, I ask that you remain with your family until everything is resolved. If you choose to return in January I cannot stop you.

"Likewise, if you decide to stay for your grandchild's birth and beyond, I will not fault you. You have accumulated enough days-off to stay away for a year at the very least, and that is not including holidays. So I hope that you take advantage of this, Minerva. Family is extremely important, and while admirable, I do not think that you should put your job before it."

The witch said nothing for a long moment. "But my classes," she began hesitantly, "my deputy duties…"

"Are currently not your concern," he said gently. "Be assured that they will be taken care off. Now, your suspension begins as of tomorrow. I will ask that you remove yourself from the premises by then. I hope that it is sufficient time?"

"It is," she nodded. "I apologise for the position I've put you in, Albus."

The headmaster noted though that she did not apologise for her actions. As he had earlier surmised, currently, she was taking everything he said at face-value. Perhaps later on she would recall his words and take a better stock of her actions.

"If that is all?" she began.

"There is one more thing," he said, "but I consider this a personal matter. Therefore I am not speaking in my capacity as the headmaster."

"I understand."

"Good," he responded, a hint of steel entering his voice. "I cannot condone the incident with my ward, Minerva. I am assuring you that he had no part to play in any of my decisions regarding you. However, it needs addressing and I hope never to have to do this again. Harry is my concern. Anything unrelated to his schooling is not up for question by you or any other member of staff. I will not tolerate personal attacks on him, far less in a public setting.

"If you have an issue regarding my ward, especially if it does not directly correlate to his schooling, you will direct those comments toward me, and me alone. Severus is the only exception to this for I consider him as Harry's secondary guardian. Were it possible at this time, I would make it legal and you very well know this. You will not accost him as you did, you will not attempt to humiliate him as you did, and you certainly will not intimidate him.

"If Harry shows any residual damage because of your actions toward him, believe me, Minerva, you will regret it. This is your first and only warning. If you have nothing worthwhile to say to my ward, then I suggest that you keep your relations with him purely professional. Should any disciplinary matters arise you may refer him directly to Severus or me if you fear that you cannot treat him as you would another student. I have no problem with that. I will be watching you carefully on your return, especially where it relates to Harry. Do not disappoint me again, Minerva, for you will not like the consequences of doing so.

"Harry is to me what Madison is to you. How would you feel if I started lambasting your daughter for the slightest reason – if I deliberately or otherwise made her life uncomfortable?"

Albus knew that he was striking a low blow, but he refused to feel guilty as the woman's eyes widened in shock. Harry was his son, one who had already suffered too much for one so young. He would be damned if he let anyone – especially a friend – ruin the happy life Harry was still adjusting to. More than anything, he was disappointed with the witch. From the start, her reaction to the guardianship had bothered him. He had expected her to be happy for him. Besides that, wasn't she the very one who had protested against him leaving Harry with the Dursleys? True she knew nothing of what Harry had endured, but still...he would have thought her pleased. His family was complete once again. Why would she be against that?

The only way to get the answers he wanted was to ask her, but this was not the time. It was nearing the time he had asked the staff to gather, plus, he wanted to be done with the entire thing. Minerva had taken up enough of his time, had done enough damage to the school. He wanted her out until she returned to her former self. Until then, he would have to clean up the mess she had created, something that was going to put added stress on him and his staff for the foreseeable future.

"I hope you understand my position Minerva. You are my friend, but the friendship can easily be severed. I made a vow that I would always put my family first. I will not repeat the mistakes of the past, and I will allow no one to stand in the way of me keeping that promise."

"I-I understand," the woman responded, for certainly, there was nothing else she could say that would not incur the headmaster's wrath.

There was no hint of the grandfatherly man before her. Indeed, given the hardness of his tone and the steel in his eyes, the woman could easily understand why even a dark lord had feared him. It was a side of him she hoped never to see again.

"I'm glad we understand each other," he said. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, the twinkle returned to his eyes and he was pushing the sweet tray to her. "I suppose you have a busy day ahead of you with packing and what not. Would you like a lemon drop before you go?"

As the door closed behind the witch, Albus sighed. When Fawkes landed before him, he smiled wearily as he scratched along its neck. "I made the right decision my friend," he murmured. "I regret that she put me in that situation to start with, but what is done is done."

Fawkes trilled in agreement, before nicking a lemon drop. After a moment, Albus followed suit, and sucked on it as he headed for the staffroom.


	34. Chapter 34

Albus' eyes roved around the staffroom, waiting for silence to descend once again. His news regarding Minerva was surprising after all, and as such, he allowed them the leeway. His gaze lingered on the empty seat beside him. Her absence was glaring – had been from the start of the meeting, and would continue to be for the foreseeable future. Nevertheless, he reminded himself, it had had to be done. He felt as if there was someone watching him, and, turning slightly, he found Severus observing him with a rather strange expression. The potions master was being extremely carefully to hide his emotions regarding the situation. He arched a questioning eyebrow at the young man – a silent inquiry – but Severus only looked away, staring determinedly out of a window.

Finally, the gathered Professors quieted down, and Filius looked toward him. "What are we going to do about her classes?" he inquired. "I doubt that a replacement can be found at this time of the year."

Although his tone was even enough, to Albus, he sensed a bit of guilt radiating from the long-time Professor. Undoubtedly, the man was wondering if he had done the right thing by coming to him. Perhaps he had not expected such a strong reaction from him? It was, after all, the first time he had ever taken such drastic actions against a staff member, and hopefully, it would be the last.

"You are right about that, Filius," he agreed. "I have yet to make any inquiries, but it is doubtful that anyone can take up the post immediately. My main concern at the moment is the OWL and NEWT students and so I will personally teach the fifth, sixth and seventh years. It is impossible though for me to take on all seven years, and frankly, I will not even consider it as being a possibility. I'm looking for some viable suggestions from you regarding the matter, for I have none at the present time."

"Can't we distribute the classes among ourselves?" Charity Burbage, the Muggle Studies teacher, offered. "I only have sixteen students currently and I managed an O on my Transfiguration NEWT. Surely that is sufficient to teach a lower level class?"

"I agree with Charity," Septima Vector added. "I was halfway through my Transfigurations Mastery before I fell in love with Arithmancy. I will have to brush up on my readings, but I believe I can handle a few classes. My schedule will have to be adjusted though to compensate for time clashes. Bathsheba, you did Transfigurations as well, didn't you?"

"I have an E in my NEWT," Babbling confirmed. "That should be good enough to teach the first years at the very least, right? Especially if I have a syllabus and lesson plan to follow. Septima can answer any questions I have."

"Of course I can," Vector agreed. "How does that sound, Albus?"

"That sounds like a splendid idea," he said honestly, a smile tugging at his lips. "Those qualifications certainly are good enough. Therefore, unless there are any disagreements, I'll assign the lower school to you three?"

"You can," Charity said with an enthusiastic nod. "This will be fun. Plus," she added with a mischievous grin. "I might be able to persuade a few more students to take Muggle Studies."

"I figured that there was an ulterior motive," Pomona added teasingly.

"Of course," Vector retorted. "Do you believe that some students refuse my class simply because they've heard I'm strict?"

"I know," Babbling agreed. "And many think Ancient Runes a waste."

"Just ensure that the students learn their Transfigurations as well," Albus added good-naturedly.

"We will."

"Good," he nodded. "Now, I also need a new Head of House for the Gryffindors. Any volunteers?"

"I suppose I could do it," Professor Sinistra indicated sleepily after a long silence. "As long as I won't be needed before midday, I can manage it."

Albus, as did several other persons, chuckled ruefully at that. Aurora was rarely seen before lunch – a consequence of the number of late night classes she taught.

"Heads are rarely needed in the mornings," Pomona offered. "Usually anything I do with the Hufflepuffs occur after classes."

"Good," the headmaster said. "Then Aurora will take up the post. Now as for Deputy...what is it Fawkes?"

The phoenix had flashed itself into the room before him, flapping its wings in a way that suggested urgency. He met its gaze for a long moment before frowning. "There's a duel occurring on the third floor. I think that they are sixth years."

"I will deal with it," Severus said, rising immediately. "How many?"

Albus noted absently that he seemed a little too eager to leave. But then again, Severus never had much patience for staff meetings.

"Three are fighting," the headmaster said, looking at Fawkes again. "There is a crowd observing. Filius, you may want to go as well. Two are Ravenclaws."

Filius sprang up as well, a scowl on his face. "Probably Anderson and Callus," he muttered as he followed the potions master out the door.

The headmaster sighed before refocusing on the agenda. "As I was saying, I also need a Deputy. The choice ultimately lies with me, but I would like input."

This time, no one was forthcoming with an answer. The post was a difficult one to manage, he knew, and already he was asking his staff for a lot. There were no teachers left with a significantly lower class load that he could automatically ask. More than that, he strongly believed that his Deputy should be someone he trusted completely to carry out the duties in his stead as necessary. Also, there was the fact that, historically, the Deputy was also a Head of House. It was not a concrete rule by any means, but it inevitably ended up that way.

For a moment he considered Filius, but then discarded the idea. His Charms Professor had made it abundantly clear years ago that he had no interest in the position and he doubted that time had changed his opinion on the matter.

"What about Severus?" Pomona asked suddenly, dispelling the silence. "Didn't he take the post over the holidays?"

"Well yes, he did," Albus responded, surprised at the suggestion. Why hadn't he thought of Severus? The answer was immediate. The man would hex him if he even suggested it. "But-"

"He's familiar with the role then," Vector stated. "That's a plus right there. He already knows what needs to be done and you two are accustomed to working together."

"I agree," Sinistra seconded. "What's the point of one of us needing time to adjust when Severus already has the knowledge? He's efficient, reliable..."

"And can completely hold his own against the Board if necessary."

A murmur of agreement went around the room.

"Does he have the right temperament though?" Burbage asked. "I agree that he may be the best choice given the circumstances, but will he want to do it? It's not as if he's here to give any input on the matter and we all know he can't be forced into doing anything."

"It's better this way," Sinistra smirked. "If all of us agree, he'll be hard-pressed to refuse. I for one believe he'd be a great Deputy. And it'll be a great experience for him. He's a lot mellower now, so I don't think his temperament would be too much of a problem. Plus, the position will force him to be more sociable. And we all know how he sticks to himself unless you're persistent."

"He'll have no choice but to be," Burbage admitted. "But you have a point. The responsibility would do him a world of good. What do you think, Albus?"

"I do agree with you," he said carefully. "Severus would benefit from the role, but I doubt he'd accept it willingly."

"Bribe him!" Pomona supplied.

"Albus is above that," Sinistra teased. "But, I think if he knew that our candidates were, say, him and Sybill, he'll agree in a heartbeat."

Laughs went around the room at that comment. Said witch was still staring determinedly into her crystal ball, seemingly unaware of the fact that her name had been called.

"And it's not as if his schedule would be a problem," Pomona added. "The timetables will already have to be altered. He can ensure he has block hours free to manage everything. He'll have less time for detentions though, but he's stopped assigning as many anyway."

"So Albus, do we have an agreement? Severus will be the new Deputy?"

"Well, it seems to be a unanimous decision," he said wryly. "Therefore I will approach him regarding the post."

"You should consider the bribe though," Sinistra chuckled. "A basket full of ingredients and he'll be more likely to say yes...well, at least he would listen."

"Or force feed me them one by one," the headmaster quipped.

"Yum," Pomona joked, creating more laughter.

The meeting ended on that cheerful note, and Albus, still chuckling, returned to his office to debate the best way of securing Severus in the post.

*

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, surprising him by hugging him.

He tensed, but after a moment, relaxed enough to briefly return the hug. "What's wrong?" he asked, noting the concern on her face.

"She was worried about you," Neville answered. The blonde was seated on the rug before the unlit fireplace, a chessboard in front of him. "I was too."

"Colin told us what happened yesterday," Hermione explained as she returned to where she had been sitting Harry following at a slower place.

"Oh."

"Are you okay?" she pressed. "He said that Professor McGonagall was really mad at you."

"She was," Harry confirmed, even as he glanced around the uncharacteristically empty common room. "Where is everyone?"

"They're taking advantage of the cancelled classes. A couple of upper years are still in the dorms though, but mainly, it's just us here. We figured you'd come back here eventually so we waited."

"Thanks," he smiled. "I'm okay, Hermione, but my guardian didn't feel too comfortable with me coming back up here yesterday."

Hermione and Neville shared a brief look, noting the odd phrasing of his response.

"I'm glad you're okay," she said sincerely before grimacing slightly. "But...well, you know how Colin is, Harry. He burst in here like the devil was at his heels. He wasn't particularly quiet..."

"And now everyone knows what happened," Harry guessed ruefully.

Professor Snape had warned him to expect new rumours, especially given the public area they had been in. Nevertheless, he hadn't thought that Colin – no matter how inadvertently – would have been the creator of them.

"He didn't mean to," Hermione defended. "He shut up once he realised just how many people were listening. They still got an earful though."

"It was bound to happen eventually though," Neville added regretfully. "They've been pretty quiet about you recently. Now everyone thinks that you hexed the Professor."

"What?" Harry gasped.

"You know how things get distorted, Harry. By breakfast, the story had changed into you getting hauled off by Professor Snape for hexing her. That's apparently what the cancelled classes are about. The teachers are trying to decide if they can suspend the Harry Potter."

"It'll blow over though," Neville added. "It always does. As soon as they see you and the Professor up and about like normal, they'll realise how stupid it really is. The good news is only the lower years seem to be buying into it."

"How so?" Harry asked curiously.

"Well, for one, we have better things to do than talk about a second year, no matter how famous he is."

All three jumped at the new voice. Turning, they saw Percy Weasley at the bottom of the dormitory steps, a book in one hand.

"I couldn't help but overhear," he said with a small smile, coming across. "Anyone with an ounce of sense would see how stupid it is. No second year could beat a Professor – heck, I doubt I would stand a chance against the Professor. Just ignore it, Potter, and it'll blow over soon."

"He won't be able to ignore it for long," Neville replied. "Our dormmates are ridiculous. They'll just keep badgering Harry, and then me when he won't answer."

Percy grimaced. "If they bother you too much, come to me," he urged. "I'm a prefect after all. I'll help, even if it's my brother, especially if it's Ronald. I've all but given up on Fred and George, but there's still hope for him."

"We will," Neville said with conviction. "Right, Harry?"

"R-right."

"Good," he said. "Now I'm off to the library. You may want to learn some privacy charms though, especially if the conversation is personal. Someone else may have eavesdropped and used your words against you."

"We will," Hermione replied, eagerness in her tone at the possibility of learning a new spell.

"He's right, you know," Neville said as he left, "it will blow over. It always does."

"And you can just ignore them until it does," Hermione added.

"I will," Harry promised. "Besides, it's not so hard when I'm with you guys. Although, Neville, have you talked to Luna recently?"

"Not since Sunday. Why?"

"I think the first years are giving her a hard time. I had to help her find back her things."

"Again?" he frowned. "I told her to tell Professor Flitwick the next time it happened."

"Knowing Luna, she probably blamed it on some creature," Hermione said dryly.

"She did. Nargles I think."

"I'm going to go talk to her," Neville decided, standing up. "If she won't tell, I will."

"Let's go to the library, Harry," Hermione suggested. "It's bound to be empty right now, and I really want to look up those spells Percy mentioned."

"Let me drop of my stuff first," Harry agreed, already rising. "Be back in a few minutes."

"Okay."

"Did you notice?" Hermione asked as soon as he was out of sight. "He said 'back up'."

"I know," Neville confirmed. "It's as if he was still in the castle."

"Which would mean that I'm right," the witch smirked. "Professor Snape really is his guardian. Why else would he tell him to go home?"

"I still say it's the headmaster though," he rebutted. "His phoenix is always following Harry around. You saw it yourself yesterday."

"I did, but still...I think it is Professor Snape. It fits. He's never around on the days Harry goes 'home'."

"Neither is the headmaster."

"Who's a very busy man..."

"Let's stop," Neville sighed. "We've reached no further than yesterday. We should just ask him about it."

"I know," she conceded, "but he must have a reason for not telling us."

"And we'll respect that," he said firmly. "It doesn't change that we're curious, but if we press him for information, it'll make us no better than everyone else. He'll talk when he's ready."

"Talk about what?" Harry asked curiously, laughing when they jumped in fright. "Percy was right. It is easy to overhear."

"Everything that happened between you and the Professor," Hermione said quickly. "You haven't told us everything yet."

"Oh right," he agreed. "I'll tell you as we walk. It really isn't anything special."

"Good."

"Then let's get going, I really want to talk to Luna."

"Okay. Well..."

*

Severus was glad that he had such good control over his emotions. As is, he was tempted to snicker at Albus' continued rambling. The man had yet to give him a moment to speak, too engrossed in presenting his case for why Severus should become his new Deputy. The potions master had had an inkling that the offer was coming, had since he had announced Minerva's suspension. After all, he had already held the post once – albeit briefly – but long enough that Albus would consider him for it once again. What he had not expected though, was for the suggestion to have originated from his fellow staff members, but nevertheless, the offer was not unexpected.

Had Albus simply asked him outright, he would not be still talking. Severus was tuning out his arguments – compelling though they may be as he focussed on his own thoughts. Doing the work would be difficult, but he had managed it before, and he would manage it again. Yes, he had hated the position before, but then again, it would be easier this time around as he was more familiar with the role. Besides that, he had completed most of the paperwork in the holidays anyway, so now it was just to push through the implementations. Even the fact that he would have even more interactions with Albus did not bother him. Their relationship had dramatically improved, and now, he actually enjoyed being in the man's company. Working alongside him would be no great difficulty.

Despite those reasons though, there was one main one which made the decision for him. It was the fact that Albus had actually gotten rid of Minerva – temporarily, yes – but the fact remained, he had actually disciplined her. He had listened to what he and others had had to say and had made a judgement solely on that factor. There had been no favouritism, no leniency because she was a friend. To Severus, it was proof of just how far Albus had come and he would reward him for it.

It was childish yes, but Severus still had a few grudges against the man, many that stemmed from his own time as a student. He had never forgotten the many times Albus had generally sided against the Slytherins, and him specifically, especially when it came to the Gryffindors. The most glaring had been the time he had nearly lost his life due to Black's prank. Had Potter not had a change of heart...no, Severus refused to dwell on the possible outcome of that. But still, with the deputy standing beside him, he had let the Gryffindors go with hardly any punishment, while threatening him – the real victim – with dire consequences should he speak about the incident.

Looking back, he could appreciate Albus' reasoning. There would have been no future for Lupin had his secret been revealed. But still, it had stung, worst yet when Minerva had pulled him aside at a later date to chastise him. She had been viciously clear, if he stayed away from her students, he would not find himself in such situations. No matter how cumbersome the week of detentions was, shouting at the woman had felt exhilarating. A lesson had been learnt that day though – Albus would always take the advice of his Deputy and favour his Gryffindors.

Now, older and considerably wiser, Severus knew that he had exaggerated the latter. While the headmaster would always be fond of his old house, he was not really as biased as he had originally surmised. Nevertheless, his opinion regarding Minerva was the same. He would always favour her. Thus, he had not expected much to have come from the incident. Truly, he had thought that Albus would scold her in that grandfatherly way that made one feel about two inches tall. But that would be the end of it. Albus would assure him that the matter had been dealt with, and Minerva would (might) change her ways. If she didn't, the cycle would continue indefinitely, but one thing would remain constant. Albus would support her.

Severus' shock at Albus' announcement had been palpable and his disbelieving eyes had lingered on the man throughout the meeting. He honestly had found it difficult to grapple with the implications of the man's words. Albus had put his students above her. He had taken his words to heart, and had dealt with the matter in a completely justifiable matter. He had been amazed. Albus had glanced at him more than once, so he had known that the man had sensed something wrong in his demeanour, but thankfully, he had not pressed the matter.

Willingly, he had latched on to a reason to leave the meeting early, and once the students had been dealt with, he had locked himself away in his office until the lunch period ended. Now, as he continued to ignore the man's words, he thought about how Albus' decision had further altered his perception of him. A small smile tugged on his lips as he eyed him. With that one act, his respect for him had increased dramatically, and as such, he felt quite amiable to him. However, that amiable feeling would quickly fail if the man would not stop his rambling.

"I'll do it," he said smoothly, cutting him off.

"And I-you will?" the headmaster asked, a stunned look on his face.

"That is what I said," he confirmed, smirking slightly at his dumbfounded expression. "I will do the job."

Albus looked at him for a long moment. "I honestly didn't expect you to accept so easily," he said. "I didn't even give you the basket yet."

Severus arched an eyebrow at him. "Basket?"

The headmaster had the grace to look slightly shamefaced. "Well, I figured that you would be more willing to agree if I got you a present so..."

"So you think I could be bought?" he asked, resisting the urge to snicker.

"Not really," he shrugged. "I had hoped though that you'd take pity on a desperate old man."

"And what exactly have you gotten me?"

"Had gotten you," Albus corrected with a smirk of his own. "You agreed so I see no need to give it to you now. Although, what will I do with those disgusting Blood Pops?"

"Old man," Severus growled.

"Alas," he continued, "since I hate the things I suppose I will give them to you. Along with the ingredients I managed to secure. The new journal by Spolansky though...I may keep that. I am willing to negotiate though. Over tea perhaps? Tonight after Harry goes to bed?"

"Actually, I was wondering if you wanted him today," Severus said. "I think you should talk to him sooner rather than later. He seemed fine this morning, but you know how he can get sometimes."

Albus frowned slightly before nodding. "You don't mind?"

"Not really," he shrugged. "I had him last night regardless, and I will be busy with detentions..."

"The duelists?"

"Yes. Filius and I are splitting the detentions between us."

"Hmm, well then, I'll take Harry from your hands for the night."

"Good, it's nearing five so he'll be on his way to my place. I'll send him through the floo."

"Okay," Albus nodded, watching as Severus neared the fireplace. "Thank you," he said seriously. "You've done me a great favour."

"You're welcome," he responded gruffly, "and I will hex you if I don't get my basket," he added before disappearing in the flames.

The headmaster laughed heartily at that before rising. He had a good few minutes before Harry turned up, he would use that time to set up a tea tray for them.


	35. Chapter 35

"Do you think she's going to be different?" Hermione asked softly, looking toward her two friends.

"She might be," Neville offered. "What do you think, Harry?"

"I think she will be," he responded after a moment's thought. "I mean, Professor McGonagall never acted like the other head of houses. I think Professor Sinistra will."

"I think so too," Hermione nodded. "Luna said how Professor Flitwick has a house meeting every Sunday with them. And the Hufflepuffs have games and discussions once a month. Do you know if Professor Snape does anything special with the Slytherins, Harry?"

For a moment, Harry wondered why she was directing the question toward him. After all, it was not as if he had any friends from the house that he could have gotten the information from. Nevertheless, he responded, saying, "He takes roll every night to make sure that no one breaks curfew. I think he sits with them for an hour on Fridays and Saturdays but I don't think they do anything special. They just talk."

"I wish we had something like that," Neville admitted. "We're the only ones that are left out. Everyone else does stuff together as a house. We just sleep in the same tower."

"Well, maybe things will change with the Professor," Hermione said consolingly.

Even as she spoke, she noted that Harry's response supported her theory that Professor Snape was his guardian. The only way he would know such details, she reasoned, was if he actively conversed with the man. She was looking forward to pointing that out to Neville although she was sure he would have a counter to it. Their debates were highly amusing though, and she really enjoyed them. Nevertheless, she still looked forward to unravelling the mystery and finding out the truth.

"Well, the fact that she's meeting with us must count for something," Harry said eventually. "It's more than we ever had before."

"That's true," Neville agreed. "Just a smile would be an improvement."

The three snickered at that before quieting as the Fat Lady's portrait swung open. Professor Sinistra stepped through, looking about her for a moment before smiling happily. Harry chuckled when Neville jabbed him gently, before growing serious as the woman started speaking.

"Good night, everyone," she began, seating herself. "Now, as you heard this morning, I am now your head of house. For the sake of formality, I will re-introduce myself to you. I am Aurora Sinistra, Astronomy Professor, and now your head of house. I have had all of you in my class at some point, and I am looking forward to getting to know you in this more private capacity.

"Now, I want to discuss with you what I expect from you. As you know, I am a very hands-on person, and I see no reason for me to be any different in this. This may be my first time in this Tower, but I am assuring you that it certainly will not be my last. I will be a regular presence here. Unfortunately, given my schedule there will be nights when I can do little more than take roll call, but I hope that these will be in minimal.

"I see some of you are confused. That is okay. I spoke to a few upper years and I know that my methods will be very different from Professor McGonagall's. You will need time to adjust and I will make allowances for that. Nevertheless, I am going to be more than just a roll-taker for you. I am here to help you with any problems you may have. It doesn't matter if it is academic or not, my door will be open for you.

"Now, there has been a lot of rule-breaking from you, but as of now, I expect it to stop. Incomplete assignments and the curfew breaking are the most blatant offences and they are the first I intend to deal with. I expect your assignments to be completed in a timely manner and done to the best of your ability. It is impossible for me to ensure that every one of you stays on top of your work, but I will be checking the school records. One bad assignment will earn you a warning. A second will get you detention. Anymore and you will be spending your afternoons with me as I ensure that they are done up to standard. As I'm certain that you don't want to spend the extra time with me, I suggest that you do them properly.

" You will observe curfew or else you will answer to me. I expect you all to be in the Tower by eight thirty. The only exception to this will be on nights that you have my class. Prefects, you are only exempted on nights you have patrol.

"Now, it has been brought to my attention that you Gryffindors tend to stay up at all hours of the night. This needs to stop. To that end, I am assigning you a sleeping schedule. First through third years, I expect you in your dormitories by ten o clock and in bed no later than half past ten. Fourth and fifth years, inside by half past ten, asleep by eleven. Sixth and seventh years, I want you asleep by midnight. Once again, prefects, allowances will be made for your duties. Any questions thus far?"

To Harry, it seemed as if the students had only needed the invitation to begin. Immediately, several persons started to complain. The bedtime seemed to be their biggest grouse Harry noted, even as he turned to listen to what Hermione was murmuring.

"What?" he asked softly, while Neville leaned in closer as well.

The witch gave him a delighted smile. "Isn't this great?" she beamed. "I've always thought that we needed some sort of structure around here."

"It might even stop that lot from waking me up whenever they decide to come to bed," Neville added, pointing to the other second years who were complaining as well.

"They never bother me," Harry said.

"You're a deep sleeper," Neville replied. "This doesn't seem so bad though. I don't know why they're complaining so."

"Because they can," Hermione deadpanned.

"Quiet down please!" the professor demanded, drawing their attention back to her. "These rules are not a punishment."

"But we won't have any free time with those rules!" a third year protested.

Several murmured their agreement to his words.

"Time management is a skill you must master, Mr. Rogers," she said, pinning him with a stern glance. "If you regulate your hours carefully, I am certain you can complete your assignments, sleep at the recommended time and have free time for relaxation. Regardless, this is non-negotiable so please do not argue further before I find earlier hours necessary."

That statement quelled the last of the complaints, and the house settled down into an uneasy silence. It was clear though that the majority of the students were discontented.

"It's not as if I've cancelled Christmas," she said in exasperation as she took in their expressions. "You will be able to manage these rules."

"You'll just punish us if we don't," someone grumbled.

"That is not my intent," she responded. "I am not trying to make you all miserable. Yes there will be punishments if the rules are not adhered to, but there will also be rewards if you do keep them."

"Like?" a witch asked curiously.

"A game night for one," she supplied, "picnics on the grounds and perhaps an extra hour or two in Hogsmeade for the older years. I'll have to think about it some more, but there will be rewards. Now, let me finish speaking and then I'll take some more questions.

"The common room and dormitories must be tidy at all times, and yes, I will be checking. Uniforms are to be kept tidy and try not to be late for your classes. Was there anything else? Oh! I nearly forgot. I will be meeting with each of you personally. It will give me the opportunity to get to know each of you individually. After all, we are a family now - I suppose I am your mother in a way, and what kind of mother doesn't know each of her children? The meetings won't start for a while yet, maybe in a week or two when everything has settled down, but they will happen.

"Now, any more questions?"

Twenty minutes later, the woman left after bidding them a cheerful goodnight. Twenty minutes later, the woman left after bidding them a cheerful goodnight. The portrait had barely closed behind her when the noise started. They were significantly more vocal now that she was gone, and Harry looked wistfully toward the dormitory. It was bound to be quieter up there. He flinched slightly when Neville tapped his shoulder, but relaxed almost immediately.

Once again, Hermione was stating her agreement with the new measures.

"I doubt they'll listen though," Neville said, "and she isn't particularly strict."

Hermione frowned at that. "She does let people get away with a lot in class..."

"She seemed different though," Harry pointed out. "More...focussed? Even if she's not so strict in class, she may be with us. But she was really nice as well."

"I like what she said about us being a family," Neville said. "I mean...I wouldn't mind really if she does act like a mother does – checking on homework and enforcing curfew. It might be nice..."

Harry nodded slightly in understanding. He had seen the slightly wistful expression on Neville's face more than once whenever someone complained about their mother – or parents generally. He was certain that Neville would have given anything to be able to be in their positions, to have someone to complain about. All he had was a strict, unyielding grandmother who loved him, but was far from affectionate. Harry briefly wondered on why he didn't share his friend's sentiments. It was because his parents were dead, he ultimately decided. He didn't have a physical reminder of them there to remind him of what he had lost.

"Nothing really affects us," Hermione shrugged. "We sleep early, we do our work, and maybe with a new teacher our Transfigurations grades will actually be accurate."

"I'm glad they cancelled the old ones," Harry said, nipping his lip slightly as he recalled his conversation with the headmaster. The man had scolded him for not saying something, but since it had come amidst tea and biscuits, Harry had not felt too badly about it. It had been a relief though, to find out that his essays had been graded unfairly and that the fault had not been his.

"I'm not looking forward to end of term though," Neville huffed. "We won't have any marks to fall back on."

"All the more reason to study harder," Hermione smiled before standing. "Anyway, I'm going to head up. I have a letter to finish writing."

"Goodnight," the two wizards said in union, rising as well.

"He's back again," Neville noted, looking toward the phoenix perched on Harry's bedpost. "He really must like you, Harry."

"I guess," Harry allowed, eyeing the phoenix warily. He still remembered how it had pecked him, although it had been nothing but affectionate since.

Said phoenix stretched its wings lazily before trilling what Harry supposed was a greeting.

Harry still had no idea why the bird was always following him these days, but he and his friends had gotten used to it. He had been startled one night when, waking to use the bathroom, he had found the bird perched on his chest staring down at him with its black beady eyes. It had moved from him quickly, but Harry had the impression that the phoenix had been there for some time observing him. What was so fascinating about him that would cause the phoenix to watch him as he slept? He had posed the question to the headmaster, but had received no real answer. If the bird's behaviour continued, he would ask again.

"Hey, Harry?" Neville said as he emerged from the bathroom, fiddling with his shirt buttons.

"Yes, Neville?"

"You know you can tell me anything, right?"

Harry quirked his head at him, wondering what the boy meant by that. "I know," he confirmed, offering him a smile. "You're my friend. I can trust you."

"Once you know that," the blond responded.

Neville's gaze lingered on the phoenix for a moment before he continued riffling through his trunk. Harry looked at him thoughtfully, before looking to the phoenix as well. Was Neville indirectly telling him that he knew, or at least suspected who it was? And really, Harry pondered as he climbed into his bed, was it a secret he really needed to keep anymore?

*

"Do you have everything?" Harry asked from his spot on his bed.

"I think so," Neville replied, frowning as he tried in vain to close the lid. "Why is it that there is always room at the start of the term, and none at the end?"

"Maybe if you actually folded everything you wouldn't have that problem," Harry teased, coming over.

"Funny," the blonde wizard sniffed.

"Let me see," he said, gently pushing the blonde wizard aside.

He arched an eyebrow at him a moment later. "And you wonder why it won't close?"

"Hush you," Neville snapped, before smiling broadly when Harry started emptying it. "You'll help?"

"Sure."

While Harry began folding his clothing, Neville checked through his drawer and closet to ensure that he was not forgetting anything.

"Gran would love you," he declared a few minutes later, as Harry packed the last of the clothing away. "That's neater than Binky ever managed!"

"I've had a lot of practice," Harry shrugged. "I haven't seen your Charms text."

"Oh no. Don't tell me I misplaced it again?"

"The exam was this afternoon," Harry mused, "did you forget it in the library maybe?"

"Hermione may have it then," he said, heading for the door. "If not, I'll have to wait until morning, and the train leaves at nine. Oh Merlin..."

Harry laughed softly as his friend wandered out the room, still talking loudly to himself. Neville's almost chronic clumsiness and forgetfulness was a constant source of amusement for him. He and Hermione took turns ensuring that he never left behind something after class or reminded him of which step needed to be avoided. After checking to ensure that there really was nothing left to pack, he closed the trunk lid and rose, stretching his arms above him.

He was looking forward to going home the next day. Being at Hogwarts was fun – having his guardians there was even better, but he wanted to go back to Cottage House. There would be no interruptions, no miscellaneous persons to take away his time with the men. He knew that, like before, the headmaster, and even the potions master, would be flooing back and forth to Hogwarts regularly, but they had promised that someone would always be home with him. There was so much he wanted to do once he got home.

He had listened with delight to Hermione and Neville's stories regarding holiday traditions and could not help but wonder about how his guardians celebrated the events. Would they celebrate the holidays the muggle way or did they instead celebrate the Yuletide as Neville's family did? Now that he understood the difference, he realised that Hogwarts seemed to do both but did the men prefer one over the other? Harry rocked back on his bed as he thought about it, loosely folding his arms under his head.

His mind drifted aimlessly over different matters, until he heard the dormitory door click open. "Did you find it?" he asked, pulling himself upright.

"I don't seem to be missing anything," an amused voice replied.

Harry's eyes widened slightly as he saw his Head of House standing there.

"Good night, ma'am," he greeted, standing swiftly.

"Ready for bed as always, Harry," she responded.

Harry blushed slightly at that. The witch periodically checked the dorms during her night time visits. Given that he maintained his home schedule, Harry, and sometimes Neville, were usually well on their way to sleep whenever she came to the room. The first few times had been wholly embarrassing – it was one thing to have a teacher see you in your night clothes, it was an entirely different thing when that teacher was female. Now, however, it was a fairly common occurrence.

"What is missing?"

"Neville's misplaced his textbook," Harry explained.

"So that is why Miss Granger is berating him," she mused aloud, even as she approached him.

It was only now that Harry noticed that she had a colourful bag in her hand. "Tell me, Harry," she bid. "Do you have a favourite colour?"

He looked at her curiously for a moment. "I like blue."

She nodded, before dipping her hand in the bag. Riffling for a moment, she emerged with a parcel wrapped in blue paper. "Then this is for you."

"T-thank you," Harry responded with some confusion, even as he accepted it. "What is it?"

"It's your Christmas gift," she smiled. "I'm giving it to all of the students."

Harry looked at the item in a new light. This was the second gift he had ever received, the first having been given to him by the headmaster the year before. "Thank you," he repeated, a soft smile forming on his lips.

"You're welcome," she responded. "Now put it away and don't open it until Christmas! The dwarves will take it away otherwise."

Harry nodded swiftly, remembering that the headmaster had told him something similar previously. "Yes, ma'am."

"I have a few more to give out," she said. "Make sure that your trunk is all packed. I would tell you Merry Christmas now, but I believe I'll be seeing you on Christmas."

"You will?"

"The headmaster and deputy always attend the Christmas dinner," she explained. "I'm sure that they'll bring you along. Good night, Harry."

"Good night, professor."

Neville entered directly after the woman's departure, clutching both his textbook as well as a purple gift.

"You found it," Harry noted as he put the present away.

"Hermione had it," he confirmed. "She was waiting to see how long before I noticed it gone."

Harry snickered at that, before saying, "I've finished organising your trunk."

"You're a life saver," his friend beamed, before a thoughtful look crossed his face. "Um, Harry?"

"Hmm?" he said vaguely, double checking his own belongings.

"Why did Professor Sinistra say that you'd be here for Christmas? You're going home, right?"

Harry's hand faltered slightly before a wry smile formed on his face. He had planned on telling Neville and Hermione the truth about his guardians – had since that night when their new Head had introduced herself. But the opportunity to do so had never arisen, and so he had hesitated. Now he was put in a position where he would be forced to tell unless he was willing to be dishonest. That he would never consider doing – besides, he was certain that Neville had heard her subsequent words. This was perhaps his way of needling Harry into admitting the truth.

Slowly, the twelve year old turned, deciding to borrow the potions master adopt delivery style instead of hedging. "Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor Snape will be here sometimes. I guess they'll bring me along with them since they don't really like leaving me all alone."

He nipped his lip slightly as Neville sat on the bed, regarding him thoughtfully. It was the same look he had given him when he had first revealed his wandless magic, Harry noted idly, and like before, he got the impression that Neville was not entirely surprised.

"Well, that would explain why Fawkes is always following you," he said. "So they're both your guardians?"

"Y-yes," Harry confirmed. "I live with them both."

"Then we were both right," Neville mused.

"What?"

"Hermione and I have had a long standing debate regarding your guardians. I thought it was the headmaster, she thought it was Professor Snape."

"How long have you been guessing?"

"Since October I think," he said with a shrug. "It made sense when we thought about it. One of them is always gone when you go home. Except for the headmaster...he still shows up for lunch on the weekends."

"Professor Snape stays with me then," Harry explained. "But, why haven't you asked?"

"Why didn't you tell us?" Neville shot back, although his tone was slightly teasing. "We're not mad," he reassured hurriedly when Harry's face fell. "We figured that you were scared someone would overhear."

"I'm sorry. I trust you guys, I really do!"

"I know," Neville said, leaning over to clasp his shoulder gently. "Like I said, we aren't mad. It became a game actually. Hermione has a list with our arguments and every now and again we go through them."

"I didn't know how to tell you," Harry mumbled, looking down. "I'm not used to telling people stuff about me."

"That's okay. Maybe we should have asked you, but then we thought we'd let you decide on your own to tell us. But, this seemed like too good an opportunity to pass, and if I'm to write you in the holidays, I kind of need an idea of where to send Gran's owl."

"I thought owls didn't need to know where you are."

"Are you questioning me, Potter?" Neville growled, drawing a peal of laughter from Harry.

"No sir," he chuckled, before growing serious. "I suppose I would have told you guys in the morning anyway. It's not like I'm taking the train. I wonder if Hermione is still in the common room?"

"I doubt that. She's probably taking advantage of the empty room like we are."

"That' true," he agreed.

"Besides," Neville smirked, "she deserves to wait for scolding me like that!"

"She's just trying to help," Harry defended as he climbed onto his bed. "And you do forget things a lot."

"I know. Gran still doesn't understand how I could lose a Remembrall. Although, that was deliberate...silly thing wouldn't stop glowing."

"Because you're always forgetting something," Harry quipped before laughing as Neville tossed a pillow at him. He sent it back with a flick of his wrist before closing his curtains before his friend could retaliate.

"Coward!" Neville called playfully.

"Good night," Harry shot back.

"See you in the morning."

Harry was still chuckling as he settled down beneath the covers. A few minutes later, Fawkes landed gently on his stomach and Harry offered him a sleepy smile.

"'Lo Fawkes," he mumbled as he closed his eyes.

The bird nibbled affectionately on his hair before starting to trill in a crooning voice, lulling him into an uninterrupted deep slumber.


	36. Chapter 36

The headmaster smiled softly as he watched a huge grin form on his ward's face as they apparated in the yard before Cottage House. The look on his face made the trek through the snow to Hogwarts' gates worth it. The look of delight on the boy's face was infectious and he chuckled lightly as the boy looked up at him before tugging lightly on his hand impatiently. It was clear that Harry wanted to reacquaint himself with the house as soon as possible. The headmaster looked toward the house, and, seeing the lights on within, he released his wrist, patting his head when he looked at him in confusion.

"Go on," he bid, "Severus is waiting for you inside."

It was the only invitation the boy needed for he took off running toward the house. Albus shook his head lightly as the front door opened as Harry neared. Severus leaned against the doorway, ruffling Harry's head when the boy stopped abruptly before him. Albus did not know what the potions master told him, but momentarily, Severus ruffled the boy's head lightly, and Harry ran past him into the house.

"Get out the snow, old man," the potions master called, "I won't be giving you a potion if you get a cold."

"Respect your elders, young man," he scolded as he past him.

Severus rolled his eyes as he followed. "Drumstick arrived a few minutes ago. He and the owl have been having a staring contest since."

"They still aren't getting along?" he asked wryly, removing his scarf.

"Not in the least," he said, taking the item from him and holding out his hand for the robe as well.

Once he had them, he walked off to deposit them. "Do you want some tea?" he asked as he returned to the living room.

"That would be delightful," Albus beamed, even as he tossed another log into the fireplace.

A magical one was so much easier to tend, however, he knew that Severus preferred a regular fire that crackled and snapped as the wood burnt.

"Good," Severus said, mirth evident in his tone, "feel free to pour me a cup when you make it."

"Severus!"

"I'll be in my room if you need me," he smirked, heading for the steps.

The headmaster glared after him, before he made his way to the kitchen. "That one has absolutely no respect for his elders," he grumbled. "I ought to give him a pile of coal for Christmas, but knowing him, he'll just toss it at me. Well then, I...fell for it," he ended with a groan as he found a steaming cup of tea waiting for him on the counter, along with other tea things. "He really is a good lad, miserable yes, but good nonetheless."

Upstairs, Severus smirked as he neared Potter's bedroom. Teasing the old man was always a pleasant pastime, especially given the stress he had endured during the past term because of him. He hesitated by the boy's bedroom door, hearing an odd sound coming from within.

"Potter," he said, knocking on the door. "What are you up to in there?"

"Nothing, sir."

"I'm coming in."

He found himself biting back a laugh a moment later at the sight that befell him. Potter was lying on the bed, clutching a pillow to his chest. Given the bed's mused state, and the boy's dishevelled appearance, he correctly deduced that the twelve year old had been rolling back and forth on it.

"Hugging the bed?" he asked dryly.

Potter blushed slightly, sitting up. "I'm just saying hello."

Severus allowed a chuckle to pass his lips at the boy's slightly defensive tone. "I take it that you're glad to be here?"

Potter nodded enthusiastically. "It's good to be home."

Severus claimed the edge of the boy's bed as he sat down. "It is a relief," he admitted. "There are no dunderheads here to deal with."

"I'm not a dunderhead then?" Harry teased.

"Of course you are," he smirked. "However, you are my dunderhead, and that makes a world of difference." As he said that, he leaned forward to press a finger against the boy's nose.

"The headmaster won't like that you think I'm a dunderhead."

"He shouldn't care," Severus shrugged. "After all, he is nothing but an old coot."

"Your old coot?" he pressed shrewdly.

The potions master huffed lightly, offering the boy a mild glare. He was too perceptive sometimes, he thought absently. "Now tell me. Have you had a good term?"

The preteen arched his eyebrow slightly, a silent indicator that he saw the blatant attempt at changing the subject.

"That won't work against me young man, I taught you that look."

"It works too," Harry replied. "Seamus called Hermione a bookworm last week. I did it to him and he went away. And do you know what he told Ron and Dean?"

"I'm certain you're about to tell me."

"He said that I looked scarily like you," Harry beamed.

"A greater compliment I have never heard," he said, drawing a laugh from Harry. "Now other than mimicking me, what else have you accomplished this term?"

"I have friends now," he replied immediately. "Plus, I did well in my practical work and I got to spend time with you and the headmaster. Plus I got Hedwig and Professor Sinistra is great and..."

Severus waited patiently until the boy's long winded explanation drew to an end. From his own perspective, he knew that Potter had had some difficulties, but apparently none of them mattered to Potter if his words were anything to go by.

"...and exams were good as well," he finished. "I think I did very well."

"I'm sure you did."

"Harry," Albus called cheerfully, opening the door. "Do you want – oh hello, my boy. I thought you were in your room?"

"I was on my way there," he replied. "Can we help you?"

"I wanted to see if Harry was interested in helping me with dessert."

"I am," he chirruped immediately. "Will you help, sir?"

"I do not make desserts, Potter," Severus said.

"Then you'll help the Professor with dinner, and I'll help him with dessert."

Severus growled lightly at the slight smirk the boy shot him. He certainly had him backed into a corner now. The brat was spending way too much time with him, he decided, even as he nodded.

"Good," Albus beamed. "It's so nice to see my boys together like this. Usually siblings fight but you get along so well."

"Have I mentioned that you are crazy, old man?" Severus snapped.

"What?" he asked. "You are both my boys so..."

Harry fell back against his bed with a snicker as the two men started squabbling. Everything was as it should be, he decided.

It was great to be home.

*

"Finally home?" Albus asked, a few nights later, as Severus stepped from the floo. "What kept you?"

The man glared at him, before softening the look as he caught sight of the tea tray waiting for him. "Thank you," he acknowledged, dropping into a comfortable chair. "The governors tried to slip in some draft policies in between all the Christmas letters. I decided to sort it out immediately, rather than give them more time to conspire.

"You make it sound like a battle," the headmaster chuckled. "Don't forget to forward those to me to double check."

"In a way it is," he shrugged, "one I am determined to win. How is Potter?"

"Fine. He was hoping to catch you, but I sent him to bed a while ago."

"Well, he'll see plenty of me in the morning. It's your turn to go in."

"I know," he agreed. "At least we'll be able to take some days off next week. Filius and Pomona can more than handle twelve students."

"Seventeen," he corrected. "Did you forget the Weasleys had a last minute change of plans?"

"I did. Anyway, do you have any definite plans? At least one shopping trip is a must."

"Nothing really," he said. "Although, why haven't you decorated the place yet?"

"You actually want decorations this year?"

"Potter will love it," he replied defensively. "Surely you saw his expression when Filius was putting up the trees in the Hall?"

"Yes. Harry was so excited when he allowed him to help. I suppose we'll have to get a tree. Do you think that Harry would want his room decorated as well?"

"Don't go overboard, old man," Severus warned. "He may enjoy a few things though, but there will be no fake snow or whatever else you can come up with."

"So mean," Albus sighed before nodding. "Fine, but that means I get to plan the Christmas menu."

"As long as I don't have to cook it, you can do as you please."

"You won't help?"

"I don't think I will have a choice in the matter," he huffed, "not with that Slytherin-in-training upstairs."

"He certainly is becoming quite cunning," Albus agreed, "especially when dealing with us."

"Yes. He has become quite an expert in defusing any situation between us."

"I wish there was nothing between us," the headmaster said before catching himself.

He tensed slightly, waiting for the potions master to launch into a tirade against him. When nothing came, he found himself tentatively looking toward him, surprised to see a thoughtful look on Severus' face. After a long moment, the younger wizard glanced at him, before directing his gaze toward the fireplace.

"We've come far," he stated. "A year ago I couldn't even stand being in the same room with you more than necessary. Now we do this..."

Albus nodded sadly, recalling those painfully awkward moments between them. He had always walked on eggshells around Severus, knowing that any word or gesture that was interpreted wrong could lead to an argument erupting. And anytime he attempted to be affectionate, he was rudely rebuffed. Things really had changed, he acknowledged, and Harry had laid the foundation for that change. He had given them a common goal to focus on, and the temporary truce they had settled on upon his arrival had evolved into something more.

Both men had changed. He had learned to restrain himself, to think of the consequences of his actions. It was a difficult pill to swallow, but he had also learned the importance of acknowledging his limitations and asking for help whenever it was necessary. Had he not developed such skills he was certain that Harry might have become a bitter child like Severus, for he certainly lacked the experience to deal with all his issues. But, he knew that Severus had changed as well. As his staff had noted, the potions master was considerably mellower. A perpetual dark air no longer hung around him. Although still reserved, it was no longer rare to see a smile forming on the man's face or to hear a slightly husky laugh from him.

"Things have changed," Severus continued, fingering his teacup lightly. "I'm not entirely certain I like the changes, but what I do know is that I don't despise you anymore."

The slight pang Albus felt at hearing how Severus had felt about him faded instantly at the knowledge that he no longer felt that way.

"It's a start," he said weakly, trying to keep his voice emotion-free.

Any hint of sentimentality from him, and the potions master would close himself off once again. Hearing him speak so candidly was a new experience, and the headmaster hoped to use it to get a better grasp of his elder boy's mentality.

"It is," he confirmed, "a big start given to how I felt about you before." Severus laughed dryly. "I never thought there would be a day when I didn't see you as a hypocritical fool. But then again, I could never have envisioned any of this. Living with you, working at Hogwarts, taking care of Lily's child...this certainly is not the life I had planned for myself."

"Do you hate it?" he asked curiously.

"What kind of question is that?" he scoffed. "I have no choice but to like it. The alternative would have been Azkaban."

"That's not what I mean," Albus said gently. "I mean...are you happy?"

"Happiness is highly overrated," he stated, before relenting at the dismayed sound the headmaster made. "I am content, old man. There are things I would change, but all in all, I am...happy."

"I'm glad."

"And you, old man? Are you happy?"

Albus' eyes widened at the question. "Why on earth would you ask me that, my boy?" he asked, before looking away at the pointed look Severus gave him.

"I've lived with you over ten years now, Albus," the potions master reminded him, "there is little I don't know about you."

"I thought you despised me."

"I did," he smirked, "it only irked me more when I found myself becoming privy to your personal life. Now, answer me, old man, before I decide to practice my hexes. Are you happy?"

"I am...content," Albus confirmed. "Things have improved greatly now that I have both you and Harry in my life. There is nothing I would change."

"That isn't exactly true is it?" Severus thought, setting aside his teacup. "I'm going to make us fresh tea," he said, rising.

"I'll do it," the headmaster stating, rising as well. "Why don't you go ahead and get changed?"

"Fine," Severus nodded, "I'll check on Potter while I'm up there."

"Just don't wake him."

"Obviously," he sneered, before leaving the room.

Albus stared up after him for a moment, a smile playing at his lips before he turned away, feeling considerably lighter now than he had in a long while.

"Don't just stand there, you old coot," Severus called, "I want my tea."

The headmaster snorted, before chuckling ruefully. "I really am glad to have you, my boy," he murmured before heading for the kitchen.

*

Harry bit his lip nervously as he waited for the potions master's pronouncement. The man had insisted that he re-brew the potions he had had difficulty with during the term, and now he was awaiting his judgement. Professor Snape had already approved three of his potions over the past few days, but the one he had spent his morning brewing was particularly tricky, and he did not want to re-brew it a third time.

"Is it good?" he asked tentatively.

"It could do with a hint more mint," Professor Snape said, eyeing him, "but other than that, it is perfect. Now, let's get it bottled."

"Yes, sir," Harry beamed, fetching the vials.

"Have you decided what you're going to do for Albus?"

"Umm, well, he really likes sweets," Harry responded, carefully corking a vial. "I was thinking of making him some – like in a basket maybe?"

"He'll love that," he acknowledged. "What kinds?"

"I can make fudge, toffees and fruit peels," he recited. "Oh and maybe I can make him some biscuits and cake? Actually, Neville might like those as well. I don't think he's ever had muggle sweets."

"And what of Miss Granger?"

"Her parents are dentists. She can only eat sugar-less candy and I don't know how to make those."

"I'm sure you'll think of something else for her then. Some of those things can be made a few days in advance, but if you want to make the biscuits and cakes, they'll have to be done at least a day before."

"Will you stay in the kitchen with me?" Harry requested. "The headmaster doesn't want me to cook on my own."

"I will," he promised. "And I'll ensure as well that he doesn't wander in unnecessarily."

"Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome. Now, I'm certain that you've had this discussion with Albus as well. What exactly is the old coot going to get me this year?"

A mischievous look crossed Harry's face. "I am not at liberty to divulge that information."

"Albus taught you that line didn't he?" he asked crossly, earning him a laugh from the boy. "Fine, be that way. Go ahead and amuse yourself until lunch, we're done for the day."

"Are you sure you don't want me to help clean up?"

"No," he said, "you've chosen Albus over me. I won't give you a reward."

Harry shook his head lightly as he left the potions laboratory. The potions master still teased him about enjoying doing chores. Nevertheless, when he thought about how he had successfully side-stepped his attempts to find out the headmaster's plans for Christmas, a chuckle passed his lips. He paused outside the headmaster's office, but, after remembering that he was away for the morning, he moved on.

Reaching the second floor, Harry tapped thoughtfully on his chin as he tried to think of an activity to do. There was that half-finished puzzle, but he wanted to build it with the potions master and, currently, the headmaster's tales were considerably more intriguing than anything he could find in a book. He entered the playroom and dropped down onto a rocking chair while he looked around the room. He had so many toys but truthfully they were not as fun as they could be, as he would have to play by himself. A term with Hermione and Neville had spoiled him that way, he supposed, rocking the chair faster.

Abruptly, an idea came to him and, with a small laugh he hurried to a shelf where a chess board resided. Setting it up, he tapped the side once as the headmaster had shown him, temporarily disabling the imbedded charms that animated the chess pieces.

"Fawkes," he called out hopefully.

Immediately the phoenix flashed into the room, landing nimbly on his shoulder before nibbling at his hair.

"Hey, I brushed it already, don't mess it up," he protested with a laugh. "Will you play with me? I know that you help the headmaster sometimes, but can you play on your own?"

The phoenix released the piece of hair he had been toying with before looking at the chess board. He jumped from Harry's shoulder and moved to the other side.

"You will?"

Fawkes only response was to reach down and nudge a pawn forward.

"Brilliant," Harry laughed before moving his piece.

Within a minute though, Harry realised that the bird was not playing as much as nudging anything that caught its fancy across the board. More than that, whenever Harry managed to capture one of his pieces, the phoenix would replace it immediately. Harry was not fazed though and started altering the rules to suit. Eventually, Harry declared himself the winner by virtue of having a queen, king and bishop left, which, he claimed were superior to the mere pawns that Fawkes seemed particularly partial to. Fawkes glared at him for a moment before, with a toss of his head, knocked over Harry's remaining pieces before eyeing him smugly.

Far from perturbed, Harry laughed loudly. "You're so silly," he chuckled before turning thoughtful. "I think I have some blocks. Do you think that you can knock them over?"

Fawkes looked at the boy indulgently while he went about gathering the required toys. He was endearing in his innocence, Fawkes thought. It was clearly evident that Harry knew next to nothing about him otherwise he would have known that he could lift many times his body weight. With that in mind, did the twelve year old really think some toys would be impossible for him to overcome? Nevertheless, when Harry returned and had stacked them into various heights, Fawkes decided that he would play alone. It was a good way to impress him after all. Maybe then he would stop fawning over that impertinent owl.

Thus, he decided to increase the 'difficulty' of the game by fetching a small ball and dropping it some distance away. As the boy eyed him curiously, he pushed it forward, trilling when all the blocks fell at once.

"You're so smart," Harry cooed, reaching over to scratch his head.

Now that was the reaction the phoenix wanted and so he leaned into the touch, making pleasurable sounds at the caress.

"Does the headmaster need you right now or can you stay with me for a while?"

Fawkes responded by nuzzling his head beneath Harry's chin.

"I like it when you're like this," Harry admitted, causing him to look up curiously. "Not when you bother Hedwig. Why do you do that? She's really nice you know and...Oww! No nipping!"

Fawkes huffed slightly as he moved away from him. He deserved it for even mentioning the owl. Had he not just proven (again) how much better he was than some owl? He was magical after all, had been around since before Merlin's time. He was a symbol of light and hope in their world and yet this boy of all people preferred a mere owl over him.

"Are you jealous of Hedwig?"

The question caught him off-guard and as such, his reaction was clearly noticeable.

"You are jealous," Harry discerned, causing the phoenix to turn his head away.

In an attempt to distract the boy, Fawkes rolled the ball toward him, but he would not be distracted.

"I think you are. You only nip me when I mention Hedwig, you're never nice when she's around and you always try to take the treats I want to give her. You're jealous! But why?"

Because I'm better than her, he thought darkly, before glaring at the boy.

"I like you both you know," Harry continued, reaching out to pat him soothingly. After a moment, the phoenix leaned into the touch. "You don't have to be jealous of her."

"But you're mine," Fawkes said, before tensing when the boy startled. Had he actually spoken that, he wondered.

Looking up was all the confirmation he needed. Harry's eyes were wide open and a hand was pressed against his forehead.

"W-was that you?" he asked shakily. "Did I just hear you in my head?"

Fawkes looked at him uncertainly. He had not meant to do that...had no plans of doing that for the foreseeable future. He briefly considered simply flashing out of the room, but, from what he knew of the boy, it would most likely send him into a panic, which was not something that he wanted. Resigning himself, he replied, "It was me."

"But how can I hear you?" he inquired next, although, to Fawkes' relief, he no longer looked as scared. Perhaps he remembered that the headmaster could 'hear' him as well and did not just receive the jumbled pictures he usually bestowed on other people. "Only Headmaster Dumbledore can do that."

"I can speak to those I choose," he responded wearily, wondering how best he could escape this situation.

The answer came a few seconds later when his sensitive hearing discerned approaching footsteps. It was the potions master undoubtedly he decided, and, with a happy trill, he fled the room, leaving it up to the man to answer the boy's questions.

*

"Fawkes," Harry called out as the phoenix flashed from the room. "Come back and answer me."

"Talking to yourself?" Severus asked as he opened the door. "And...are you playing with blocks? Why on earth did Albus buy them in the first place, and why are you encouraging him by playing with them?"

Harry was momentarily distracted by the man's words. "I've never been able to play with them before," he said softly. "Besides, I wasn't playing alone. I was playing with Fawkes."

"Drumstick?" Severus responded, looking around for the phoenix.

"He just left," Harry told him.

"Well, he would enjoy this sort of thing," Severus decided as he moved to a shelf and started picking through the items there. "Really," he tsked, "what was Albus thinking in buying some of these things for you? These are more suitable for a child much younger than you. Like this," he grumbled, lifting one. "This is more suited for a seven or eight year old. A lot of them are suited for..."

"Sir?" Harry looked up when the man's voice drifted off.

It wasn't like the man to stop complaining midway. But then, Harry saw the slightly shadowed look that crossed the man's face before he dropped the toy. "It's nothing, Potter," he said eventually. "As long as you enjoy these amusements, Albus may do as he pleases. Now tell me, what mischief did you manage to get in since I left you?"

"None, sir. Although, can I ask you something?"

"You may ask me something," he nodded, before claiming the rocking chair. "What is it?"

"Fawkes spoke to me just now. I heard him in my head. Do you know why?"

As Harry watched, a myriad of expressions crossed the man's face before a slightly bemused one settled on it. "I think this is a conversation for Albus," he said. "After all, Fawkes is his familiar."

"But you know the answer don't you?" he guessed.

"I do," he admitted, "but I don't think it is my place to explain it. Albus will be home earlier today. Ask him then. I must admit I am surprised by this, but then again, you are a special boy."

"I thought I was normal," Harry asked shrewdly.

"And I thought that I told you not to be cheeky," Severus mock-growled before reaching down to tousle his head. "Now, enough talk about the old coot and his Drumstick. Bring the puzzle here; we'll have some time still until lunch."

"Okay, sir," Harry agreed, content in the knowledge that he would have his answers soon.


	37. Chapter 37

Albus glanced up from the book on his lap. Seeing that Harry was still sleeping, he returned to the novel, although truly, he was not paying much attention to the text. He was preoccupied by what Severus had told him earlier in the afternoon. Fawkes had spoken to Harry, actually spoken to him? He had been stunned by the revelation; though, moments later, he realised that his shock had been somewhat unwarranted. A part of him had expected this to be the case; Fawkes' strange behaviour regarding the boy was enough proof of that. Nevertheless, to realise that his expectations were true was surprising and somewhat disconcerting for him.

Fiddling idly with the end of a page, Albus recalled his own history with the phoenix. He had been forty when Fawkes had first entered his life. He had been living in a little coastal village with a scant population. The privacy it had afforded him was perfect for the research he had been conducting at the time. Looking back, Albus realised that Fawkes had started coming around his cottage from his very first day there. There had been moments when he had sworn he had seen brief flashes of red from the corner of his eye, but by the time he had straightened, it was gone.

It was on the third day that Fawkes had actually revealed himself to him. Albus chuckled slightly as he recalled the shock he had felt. There he was, eating a hastily put together sandwich when, in a burst of flame, a phoenix appeared on the back of the chair opposite him. It had been most disconcerting, for Fawkes had stared at him unblinkingly, following his every movement as he tentatively worked his way around the kitchen when it became clear that the being would not respond to any of his advances. An hour or so passed before the phoenix left, but he returned continuously over the course of the next few weeks, never doing anything but looking at him with those deeply penetrative eyes that seemed to delve straight into his soul.

And then, a month or so after he had first appeared, the phoenix had trilled to him in a melodic voice that immediately erased all of the stress he had been feeling. The song Fawkes had made was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard, and for a long while afterwards, just the memory of it could lighten his mood considerably. From that moment on Fawkes had started interacting more and more with him; brushing against him affectionately, and occasionally nipping his fingers.

However, there were times when he would ignore him completely. Then he would just stare out a window with a rather melancholy expression. Albus could never approach Fawkes when he was in that mood without receiving a glare that clearly indicated that he was not wanted currently. The headmaster would go another year without realising the significance of those moments. A while after that, Fawkes stopped appearing to him altogether, and Albus had wondered if he had done anything to run the magnificent being from his presence.

And then, weeks later, the phoenix reappeared and, for a long time, Albus wondered if it truly was the same bird. Previously, Fawkes had been mostly quiet and undisruptive; now the phoenix actively interacted with him. When he was not landing on his shoulder and nibbling affectionately at his ear, Fawkes was flashing in and out of rooms, bringing him things he required, sometimes even before he realised he needed it himself. And there were the nights when Fawkes would land on his bedpost and croon to him until he fell asleep.

Fawkes had become his constant companion. It was only on an unaccustomed trip to the nearby village that he finally received the answer he had unconsciously sought. Fawkes had, rather reluctantly, accompanied him, flying overhead and landing on the roofs of whatever store he was going in. It took Albus a few minutes to realise that no one seemed to be particularly shocked or awed by the phoenix's presence. It was only when he was at his final stop that the store owner mentioned Fawkes at all.

"I take it that Old Ferrell's phoenix has made you its new companion," the man had said conversationally, even as he eyed him shrewdly. "You must be a great man."

"Excuse me? It belongs to someone?"

"Well, he was Ferrell's," the man repeated. "But since he died I guess he's yours now."

If it wasn't for the fact that he had been in the habit of keeping a journal, Albus would have missed the connection. As is, he was able – with the shopkeeper's information – to create a timeline. Fawkes had appeared to him around the time that the Ferrell man had first been diagnosed with an incurable disease. The time Fawkes had not been with him? That was when there had been a marked deterioration of his health. The phoenix had returned to him when the man was mostly stabilised, but it was clear that he would die regardless. It would account for the phoenix's melancholy. And, exactly a week after his death, Fawkes had returned to him, and had never left since.

It was shortly after that that the phoenix had started speaking to him and he had not stopped since. And as the years passed, Albus had learned exactly how fortunate he was to have that privilege. And now it seemed that Harry had been given it as well. Turning toward the lad once again, Albus set aside the book as he saw the first signs of stirring from the relaxed frame. As he expected, a few minutes later, sleepy emerald eyes watched him before the boy sat up, holding out his hand for his glasses.

"Thanks," he said around a yawn as he donned them. "What time is it?"

"It's almost three," he responded after a quick consultation. "Now I've heard that you've had quite the experience with Fawkes today."

Harry stared at him for a moment before recognition shone in his eyes.

"He spoke to me!" he said as he moved closer to the headmaster, all visages of sleepiness leaving him. "I heard him and Professor Snape said that you would tell me why he did it. You will tell me, right?"

"I will," he confirmed, touching his cheek briefly. "Honestly, I had not expected this to happen, especially while I am still alive. And for it to be you of all people; fate is a funny thing."

"Fate?" Harry repeated.

"I've told you many stories by now, haven't I?" he asked rhetorically. "But I really don't think I've focussed much on phoenixes. It is something that has earned me Fawkes' displeasure at some points but I rather enjoyed your innocent perusal of him."

"I don't understand, sir."

"Of course you don't," he chuckled. "Severus always says that I should cut the theatrics and get straight to the point. Alas, I have yet to find a truly appreciative audience. Perhaps I will cultivate that in you yet? Who knows? Oh dear, and now I've started to ramble. Where was I?"

"Fate, sir."

"Yes, fate. To answer your question I need to backtrack a bit, to around the time you first started Hogwarts. You see, it's only with today's events that all of the little details that have been plaguing me occasionally over the months have fallen into place. Fawkes has never been much of a wanderer Harry...well, rather, not a compulsive one. He's most content in my presence and so, it's truly rare when he leaves me for more than a few minutes at a time unless I ask him to do something for me. It used to cause quite a stir back when I was just a simple Transfigurations Professor. Fawkes had quite the sense of humour and would choose the oddest times to flash into my classes.

"He outgrew such antics with time though. But now, he's started leaving my side again, sometimes briefly but other times for hours on end. Until today I thought it recent. It's only now that I remember that he's been doing this ever since you joined Hogwarts. Yes, I was as surprised as you. But it is true. The night you entered Hogwarts was the first time Fawkes left me, and several times since then he's done the same. Those disappearances tapered off significantly when you became my ward...or at least I thought so. My portraits have confirmed that Fawkes is usually gone all night, returning seconds before I enter the room or only when morning comes...incidentally around the time you wake up."

"I told you that he comes to me every night," Harry pointed out.

"Yes child, but I thought it had started when Hagrid gave you Hedwig. In reality, Fawkes has been visiting you nightly for over a year; it is just that he now found it necessary to reveal that fact to you. I must admit, I was surprised when you confessed to sleeping properly in your dormitory. During your first few days here you were a very light sleeper. Not as bad as Severus by any means, for the slightest noise will awaken him. But you stir rather easily, and from what you've told me, your dorm mates are not the quietest boys in the world. I know now that Fawkes has been responsible for that.

"Phoenixes are strange beings, my boy, and, for all that they are legendary. No one can claim to know everything about them. A lot of what I will tell you are my own theories or things I have researched over the years. No one knows how phoenixes came into existence. I've asked Fawkes, but he in turn asked me how humans came into existence. I couldn't answer that of course, and so he asked what my purpose in asking him the same was. Don't look so surprised, Harry. Fawkes can be as sarcastic as Severus when the mood strikes him.

"Anyway, at some point, phoenixes started to intermingle with human beings, living alongside a select few and giving them both their companionship and assistance as needed. It is rumoured that Merlin was the first to have the privilege of a phoenix familiar, but personally I doubt that this is the truth. We've ascribed so many accomplishments to Merlin; it's hard to discern fact from fiction anymore. What is certain though is the fact that those who have phoenix familiars go on to do great things that have benefited society. Persons have created cures to diseases or have created spells or theories that have revolutionised the way in which magic is used."

"And what have you done, sir?" Harry asked curiously.

"Are you implying that becoming Headmaster was not a great act in itself?" he inquired shrewdly before laughing at Harry's guilty face. "I'm just teasing you, child," he reassured. "I'm not one for self-praise, but my 'great' act was defeating Grindelwald and undoing the damage he had wrought on the world."

"Grindelwald," Harry murmured.

Had he heard that name before? He wasn't certain. He looked toward the headmaster, about to ask him about it, when he caught the rather despondent expression on the man's face. It was not a good memory, Harry recognised, and so he reigned in his curiosity for now. He would ask the potions master about it later.

"Sir?" he said instead, in a soft tone.

The man blinked before refocusing on him. "My attention wandered for a moment," he said apologetically.

"That's okay. I get distracted sometimes."

"Well I feel vindicated then," he chuckled. "Regardless, Harry, what I'm trying to tell you is that only a select few ever have the privilege of becoming a phoenix's partner, and, from what happened with you today, and Fawkes' behaviour toward you in the past, I can safely say that you are meant to be his next partner."

"Me?" Harry asked, his eyes widening in surprise. "I'm going to be his partner?"

"In due course," Albus agreed, with a nod. "I am very proud of that fact, my boy."

"But why? Why would he choose me?" he asked, confusion slowly replacing the surprised look on his face. "Sir, I can't be his partner...there's bound to be a better person out there than me."

"It's a question I've asked myself multiple times," the headmaster admitted. "What made me different from everyone else? Why did Fawkes choose me? I have met some amazing people during my life, Harry, people who have accomplished things that, in my opinion, made them more suitable for Fawkes. I've even questioned him about that at times, much to his annoyance. I don't know why Fawkes chose me, but I am glad that he did. He's been a great addition to my life, and I hope that he will be in yours as well."

"But..."

"What is it, my boy?" Albus inquired, as the confused expression on Harry's face increased rather than cleared.

"He thinks that he is weak," a new voice stated, even as Fawkes appeared in the room, landing on the bed beside Harry.

"I thought you were hiding," the headmaster said, even as he reached across to stroke his head.

The phoenix leaned into the caress for a moment, nipping Albus' fingers affectionately as he withdrew them. "I was," he admitted, before turning to the twelve year old, butting his head lightly against his arm. "You think that you're too weak for me."

"I am," Harry responded in a small voice.

"That weakness will become your strength," the phoenix said with surety. "I am never wrong in the ones that I choose. You are destined for great things, and I will be with while you accomplish them."

"Really?" he asked dubiously.

"It is always the way with you humans. Never has one simply accepted my words. But you are a youngling; I understand your hesitancy."

"S-sorry."

"I should not have left you earlier," he said apologetically, "but I had not meant to talk to you...not so soon."

"That's okay. You don't have to talk to me if you don't want to."

"I want to," he told him. "Perhaps I should have from the start. Then you might not have gotten that silly owl as a pet."

"Huh?"

Albus chuckled at the morose tone that had entered his familiar's voice. "Perhaps you should explain your behaviour to Harry?"

A decidedly disgruntled look crossed the phoenix's face. Tentatively Harry petted him in an attempt to calm him. After a moment, Fawkes trilled contentedly before replying. "You were right, Harry, I was jealous of the owl."

"But why?" Harry asked in surprise. "It's not like you played with me before."

"That was deliberate on my part," he admitted. "I had no intentions of approaching you until Albus' time had passed. It became clear though that you needed me, although I tried to keep my actions hidden from you. I am a possessive being though; all of my kind is. Seeing you with another avian annoyed me."

"And so he went out of his way to get your attention," Albus finished when his familiar seemed unwilling to continue. "It's as I told you, child, Fawkes meant no harm; he simply was trying to let you know that your interactions with Hedwig were not appreciated."

"Not in the least," Fawkes added.

"But she's my pet," the twelve year old protested.

"I'm better than her."

"Fawkes," the headmaster said chidingly. "May I add Harry that phoenixes are also prideful things? He does not appreciate you fawning over Hedwig, simply because he is accustomed to having people admiring him. It is hard for him to stand by and watch his next partner lavish attention on another creature."

"That's silly," Harry chuckled, earning him a doleful look from the phoenix. "I'm sorry, Fawkes, but you don't need to be jealous. I can play with both of you."

"It should be only me," he stated, even as he bobbed his head. "I'll be nicer to the owl though," he promised.

"Thank you."

"Then I believe this matter has been resolved?"

"I suppose so," Harry agreed, stroking Fawkes head. "But you don't mind, sir?"

"That Fawkes will be yours? Of course not, my boy; I believe I said that it pleases me. And Fawkes, please stop sneaking around now. I will not hold it against you if at times you prefer Harry's company to mine."

"I will. Although you must give the boy some treats for me. Those bacon bits he insists on keeping around are absolutely disgusting."

"Those are for Hedwig," Harry gasped. "So that's why they kept disappearing! I knew Hedwig couldn't get into the drawer."

"What's good for the owl is better for me," Fawkes said pertly.

"I'll leave some with him," Albus promised even as he shook his head at his familiar's antics.

Stretching, he stood, shooting the pair a fond look. "I'm going to check on Severus and then start on dinner. Feel free to join me whenever you desire."

As he neared the door, he looked back briefly, smiling happily as he watched the two converse with each other. Harry never failed to surprise him, he thought as he closed the door. He could not help but wonder if he would still be around to see whatever it was that Harry would accomplish. It didn't matter, he decided, as he headed toward the potion laboratory. With Fawkes by Harry's side, he was certain that his ward would live a long, safe and hopefully happy life. That knowledge was good enough for him.

*

Severus' lips twitched slightly as he heard the faint fall of footsteps carefully crossing the room. For a moment he considered startling the preteen, but then decided against it. He was rather curious to see what Harry planned on accomplishing. He had claimed the living room couch for himself and was thumbing his way through one of the old man's novels. Idly, he flipped the page, giving every indicator that he was unaware of the boy's approach.

Suddenly, a pair of hands grabbed on to his shoulders. "Gotcha!" Harry declared cheerfully.

"Oh?" he said calmly, tilting his head back to look at him. "What have you got?"

Harry's mouth twisted at his lack of reaction. "It didn't work, sir," he called out, turning his head slightly.

"I told you it wouldn't," Albus' amused voice responded. "Severus has the hearing of a bat."

"Conspiring with the old man against me?" Severus asked smoothly, as he dropped the book to grab Harry's hands. "I will not have it."

The preteen gave a small gasp as the potions master tugged him forward so that he tumbled down on him. That gasp turned into loud laughter as the man's hands dug into his sides, tickling him.

"S-sir!" he managed between chortles.

"Hmm?" Severus hummed, even as he smirked at the boy's loud laughter. "Is that an apology I hear?"

Harry's only response was a next burst of laughter as he unsuccessfully attempted to squirm away from the tickling fingers.

It was a nice sound, Severus decided, even as he relented, and allowed the now red-faced boy to catch his breath. Sitting up, he turned to where Albus stood in the doorway, a decidedly silly grin on his face. He was bound to make some sappy remark about sibling bonding, Severus thought, and to cut him off, he asked, "Have you nothing better to do than encourage Potter in such silliness?"

The old wizard looked thoughtful for a moment before he shrugged. "Actually, I don't. You looked too peaceful and I thought Harry could help rectify that."

"Oh really?" he said dryly, before arching a brow at the preteen beside him. "What have I told you about encouraging the old man?"

"Not to," Harry responded, fighting against a grin.

"It's the Yule season," he sighed, even as he patted the boy's head. "It's infected you with festivity so that you rather listen to the old man than heed me. Now, have you any other reason for harassing me?"

"It's snowing."

"It has been snowing for the past few hours, child."

"I know," Harry nodded, "but its deep now."

"And?"

"We're going for a walk. Do you want to come?"

"Outside is cold and wet. Inside it is warm and comfortable. Which would you choose?"

Harry bit his lip for a moment. "It'll be fun," he tried.

"Walks are generally not fun," Severus retorted, "especially in this weather. This leads me to believe that this will not be a simple 'walk' as you put it."

"Well," Harry hedged, "the snow might um, move while we're out there."

"Move?"

"At each other," he added in a small voice, even as he looked up at him hopefully.

Severus stifled a sigh. He had never been able to resist that emerald gaze, and it seemed that Potter was taking advantage of that fact. "I will agree to this walk of yours, Potter, as long as you agree that any moving snow should be directed Albus' way."

An impish grin crossed the boy's lips even as he nodded. "Yes sir!"

"Good boy. Would you fetch me a robe?"

"Okay," he beamed, before scampering off, giving the old man a broad smile as he passed him.

"I'm going to get you for this," Severus warned, as he eyed the man.

"For what?" Albus asked innocently. "You didn't have to say yes."

"As if I had a choice," he snorted, even as he rose.

"I couldn't resist," he shrugged. "I saw the Weasley bunch playing from my office, and I thought that Harry would enjoy it."

"With persons his own age maybe," Severus said. "Not with an old man."

"And that is why you're tagging along."

"Glad to be of service," he responded dryly, before smiling slightly when Potter returned, holding out the garment for him to take. "One hour," he declared as he donned it, "and then it's back inside. I will be cross if you get a cold, Potter."

"I'll try not to."

"No concern for me?" Albus asked.

"None. At. All."

"I'll toss a snowball at him for you sir," Harry promised, throwing a grin at him.

"Why thank you, child!"

"Traitor," Severus frowned. "I thought you were on my side?"

"I am," he shrugged. "But I'm also on his. This way I get to toss balls at the both of you!"

Severus chuckled at the boy's logic before sharing a sly look with the headmaster. "Potter's plan is ingenious Albus...unless we decide to direct our assault on him?"

"Why that sounds absolutely brilliant, Severus," Albus responded, smirking as Harry's eyes widened comically.

"Fawkes help!" Harry called, even as he ran ahead of them out the door.

The phoenix appeared beside him, and within seconds was assisting the boy to the best of his ability to scoop up the snow.

"Let's give him five minutes," Albus decided as he leaned against the door frame.

"Silly boy," Severus said ruefully. "He'd have twice as many if he'd use his magic."

"Aren't you the advocate of manual labour?"

Severus' only response was to quickly draw his wand, and, before Albus could react, flick a bit of snow into his face. Snickering at the man's expression, he ran out into the frigid air, deciding that, for just a little while, he would indulge both Potter and the old man by enjoying this frivolous activity.


	38. Chapter 38

"So what is it to be Potter," Severus inquired, twirling his wand idly in his hand as he observed the preteen. "Do you want blond, brown or red hair?"

"Huh?"

The twelve year old looked up from the book he had been reading, eyeing the man curiously. He saw that the man was fully dressed for the outdoors, and that, he held the winter robe the headmaster had recently bought him in his free hand.

"I've run out of bat spleen and my dried stinging nettles are nowhere to be found," he explained with a hint of irritation. "Rather conveniently, these are the ingredients I need to complete my last batch of potions."

"You want me to come with you to get some?"

"Yes. Albus is conveniently taking a rest and I'm not about to leave you unsupervised."

"The headmaster hid them didn't he," Harry guessed with a laugh, as he rose from the floor.

Now that he thought about it, he recalled that Headmaster Dumbledore had been needling the potions master into leaving the house. Except for his trips back and forth to Hogwarts, and that one trip to Diagon Alley a few days back, Professor Snape really had not gone out. It really was 'convenient' he decided, that the day after the headmaster had tried to get him to go out, his ingredients were missing.

"I swear I will hex that man," Severus grumbled. "Regardless, we must go out. So what will it be?"

"Brown?"

"Actually, let's make it blond," he decided. "You'll still resemble yourself too much with brown hair."

"When do I learn to do that?" Harry asked, even as the man tapped his wand carefully on his head.

"Glamours? Professor Flitwick won't be teaching it to you for a few years yet, but I suppose that Albus would be willing to show you the basics if you wheedle him enough."

"Okay."

Harry pulled a piece of his head forward to observe it. "Wow."

"The very fact that you can do that suggests that you need a haircut," Severus noted wryly. "Now for your glasses..."

"They're gone!"

Severus chuckled at the boy's expression. "I've made them invisible, so do be careful of them. Right, now will you continue to be Evan or have you found a new name?"

"Evan is fine. Did you know that it was my mom's name?"

"Evans actually," Severus said shortly, before turning away to fetch the jar of floo powder. "Do you need to use the bathroom before we go?"

"I'm fine sir, but shouldn't we tell the headmaster goodbye? And where are we going, Diagon Alley?"

"Angling for Florean's hot chocolate are we?" he asked shrewdly, recalling the broad grin Harry had sported after tasting the drink. "We're going to Hogsmeade, but I'll take you to Madam Rosmerta's pub. I've written ahead to the Apothecary, so hopefully the ingredients are ready by the time we get there. I left a note for the old coot, but I as I highly doubt he's actually resting. If anyone asks, you're one of my first years. You're the only one staying over the holidays and rather than leave you to your own devices in the common room I brought you along."

Harry frowned slightly. "But the healer said my weight and height are average now."

"He did," Severus acknowledged. "But Potter, our goal is to minimise any connections between you and well...yourself. Assuming a disguise requires more than a simple change of appearance or clothing. You must actually think that you are a different person for it to be successful."

"Like an actor? I'll try to remember that."

"Good boy. Now, grab some power and let's go. I'll not spend another day on those potions."

"Yes sir."

*

The visit to the Apothecary was non-eventful. Like the one in Diagon Alley, it was slightly smelly, and Harry was more than a little perturbed by some of the bottled ingredients that lined the shelves. Tugging lightly at the potions master's hand, he had asked with some reservation if he would ever need to brew something that required pig's ears or baboon's blood. The smirk on Professor Snape's face was not the least bit reassuring, but he had relaxed somewhat when the man had wrapped an arm around his shoulders. That is, until the man mentioned that he had grown tired of baboon's blood. Kitten guts and puppy dog tails were now his choicest ingredients. Harry had looked at him in horror until the man's lips twitched slightly, a sign of his mirth. Harry had pouted slightly at being teased, earning him a flick on the nose from the Professor.

The store owner had regarded them with slightly shocked expressions, and Harry had pulled away from the potions master when he felt him stiffen.

"You've already ruined our cover Evan," Severus said softly as they left the shop, the parcel safely tucked under his arm. "There's no way I would be that interactive with a mere student."

"I'm sorry," Harry apologised. "I didn't mean to."

"No need for that," Severus said, giving him a reassuring look. "It's as much my fault for touching you like that. Domesticity has made me soft," he finished ruefully, although he didn't seem particularly upset by it. Indeed, he clasped a hand on Harry's shoulder, pulling him closer to his side as they walked. "We'll just change the scenario. You aren't a student...but a client's child. I've been around you enough growing up to be mildly fond of you, more so because you actually have talent in potions. That should cover it."

"Yes, sir," he agreed. "Is that the pub you mentioned?"

"No child. That is Hogs Head, where I never expect you to be, understood?"

"Yes," he nodded, somewhat surprised by the stern edge that suddenly entered the man's tone. "What's wrong with it?"

"It's filled with shady characters," he explained, slowing down slightly so that the boy could better observe the place.

Looking at it closely, Harry could tell that he would never want to go in there. It was very different from the remainder of the buildings. It seemed old, slightly decrepit and very, very dirty. He could barely see any lights from within, the windows were that filthy. Harry's fingers twitched slightly but he resisted the cleaning urge.

"Most people with sense avoid the place," he continued, "and I give detention to anyone of my students stupid enough to venture into it."

"Students aren't banned from entering if it's a bad place?"

"They are," Severus said dryly, "but the management can care less once they have money. It's business either way for them. Only last month three upper years returned to from a Hogsmeade trip drunk. Enough about this place though. Up ahead is a pub you can enter, The Three Broomsticks."

Harry looked at the pub a moment longer, his eyes lingering on a particularly dirty window. Was that a shadow standing behind it or was it something he had just imagined, he wondered, before turning away at the potions master's words. Either way, he put all thoughts of the place out of his mind, shooting the older wizard a smile before looking to where he pointed. Now that, he decided, was how an inn was supposed to look.

Unlike the latter it seemed warm and inviting, and when the potions master pushed open the door, they were greeted by loud, yet cheerful banter from the persons gathered around.

Although Harry moved slightly closer to the potions master, he remained relaxed as he looked around the rather homely place. It vaguely reminded him of Hagrid's as the majority of the furniture seemed to be made of wood, though they were a lot more polished.

"Go ahead to that table over there, Evan," Severus bid, pointing to one in the far corner of the room. "I'll be there in a minute."

"Okay," Harry agreed.

He could not help but observe some of the other persons there as he passed them. Two rather aged men were heckling each other good-naturedly over a chess board, while a middle aged woman smiled kindly at him as he passed her. He gave her a small wave before settling into the seat the potions master had indicated. It was near to a fireplace, and it was only now that Harry realised just how cold he was. Grateful for the man's foresight, he picked absently at the table, chuckling lightly at some of the things that had been carved into it.

"What's so funny?" Severus asked a minute later as he settled across from him.

"Someone wrote a joke," he said, pointing at it.

"One of the dunderheads more than likely," he sighed. "Really, if it wasn't for the revenue it brings in, I swear the villagers would ask us to stop the Hogsmeade trips altogether. Ah, here comes Madam Rosmerta."

"Hello, Severus," she smiled, easily balancing a tray on one hand. "And who might this young man be?"

"I'm Evan, ma'am," Harry replied.

The woman was really pretty, he decided. With such an air of friendless about her, he found himself relaxing immediately in her presence.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Evan. I suppose that this is for you then?" she asked before placing a large mug before him.

"I doubt that he would want the coffee, Rosmerta," Severus said wryly, even as he took accepted the second mug from her.

"Thank you," Harry said gratefully as he picked it up.

"What beautiful manners he has," the witch cooed, causing Harry to duck his head in embarrassment. "Tell you what, I'll go whip up you up some food okay."

"That won't be necessary, Rosmerta..."

"Oh hush you," she tsked, glaring slightly at the potions master. "You'll not be leaving here until your bellies are full. You can do with a bit more weight on you, Severus Snape."

"Have you known her long?" Harry asked once the woman sauntered off.

"Since my Hogwart days," he said wryly. "I swear she still thinks I'm thirteen years old, and take that smirk off your face."

"Yes, sir," Harry grinned, "but it is funny."

"For you maybe," he grumbled even as he smiled slightly. "I knew this trip would not work out," he added a few minutes later, after a customer wandered away from their table after engaging them in a brief conversation.

"Hmm?" Harry managed around a mouthful of delicious Sheppard's pie.

"No one would dare approach me otherwise, but with you here, I'm apparently more sociable."

Harry laughed softly at that, only for it to increase when Rosmerta, who had been walking near them, came over to find out exactly what the potions master had said to amuse him so.

"My reputation is in shambles, Evan," the man scowled.

"Oh don't try to intimidate the lad," the witch bid, slapping him on the shoulder. "You already don't visit poor old me unless you're supervising students. It's nice to see you so relaxed...you should be proud of yourself, Evan. Actually, I believe I have some pumpkin pie you would adore..."

"Don't spoil the boy," Severus said, but the witch had already walked away.

"I'll bring you a treacle tart, Severus," she called over her shoulder, "so do behave."

"You like treacle tarts?"

"That's it, Evans," he declared. "You're getting coals for Christmas!"

"The headmaster won't let you," he sing-songed.

"He's getting coal as well."

"Then we'll get you some and we can burn them all night long."

"Cheeky."

"You like it."

"I do," Severus relented, for he truly did.

He really preferred this carefree Potter than his more reserved self. He made a note to tell Albus that the boy's confidence had increased. His stuttering was at a minimal – almost indiscernible really. He supposed it had something to do with the atmosphere...after all, it was hard to be nervous in this type of place.

"What are you eating?" Harry asked eventually as he looked at the man's plate.

They both had Sheppard's Pie and a cheese covered vegetable dish on their plates, but now he noted that the man had an additional thing. It was brownish but also slightly purple, with onions and what appeared to be chives sprinkled over it.

"This?" Severus asked, spearing a piece. "It's liver. Would you like a taste?"

Harry eyed the man suspiciously for a moment, wondering if this was another one of his jokes. But he could discern no telltale signs of humour from the man, and so, after a moment, nodded. He opened his mouth as the potions master's fork approached although he hesitated slightly before he accepted it. After all, it was liver, and he really wasn't sure if people were supposed to eat organs. Nevertheless, it would be rude to refuse it at this point. He was glad that he didn't. The texture was odd, but the moment he started chewing, a burst of flavour erupted in his mouth and he found himself humming in delight.

"I take it you like it then?" Severus asked. "Would you like some more?"

"Yes, please," Harry said eagerly, and soon enough smiled around a mouthful. Who knew organs could taste so good?

"Oh, bless my heart," Rosmerta cooed when she reached their table once again. "Cute, has manners and likes liver. What I would give to be a few years younger!"

"Rosmerta!" Severus gasped even as the witch laughed.

Harry cocked his head curiously at her. What did her age have to do with anything? he wondered, before taking another bite. Sometimes, he had learnt, it was best to ignore adult conversation entirely, as it could be quite difficult to follow.

"Forget Hogwarts, Severus," she continued, "go invent something that will make me young enough for Evan here...or at least something to make him a few years older. Darlings like him make the most pleasant hus- oh not again!"

Harry tensed at the sudden shift in Rosmerta's tone. Glancing at her, he saw that she was no longer smiling. Her hand was now clutching a glowing pendant around her neck.

"What's wrong?" Severus asked immediately.

The witch ignored him, turning to speak to a man near the window. "Clyde..."

"It's just one this time," he said immediately, peering outside. "Looks drunk as usual."

"Rosmerta?" the potions master asked again, even as he shared a look with Harry, silently asking him to relax himself.

The twelve year old nodded at the silent command, although he still put down his fork. It was hard to heed the potions master, especially when he saw his right hand move into his robes where he knew his wand was located. It was clear that the man was preparing for trouble. He flinched as Rosmerta's hand dropped on to his shoulder, rubbing soothingly.

"Don't worry, sweetie," she reassured, her expression clearing somewhat. "It's just a drunkard trying to gain entrance. I don't allow their kind inside here anymore. Let's just hope he goes away peacefully. I rather not have to call an auror out here again."

"You have a ward to alert you to their presence?"

"I'm not sure exactly what it is," she admitted. "Filius was here the last time there was trouble. A few idiots wandered in and started trashing the place. He took care of them for me, and a few days later, he came back, did some wand waving and gave me this. I don't know how, but it keeps them out. I blame that silly old goat that runs Hogs Head. His only concern is money. He lets the fools drink themselves under the table and then kicks them out when they're out of money. And of course they wander over here because darling Rosmerta won't deny anybody a plate of food, or a few free drinks. Well, not anymore; they broke my great grandmother's vase!"

"It's called reparo," Severus said dryly, earning himself a tap from the woman.

"Eat you," she scowled, before repeating the command to Harry in a more friendly tone.

"He's still at it, Rosmerta," Clyde noted. "I don't know his name, but I think he's the one who just got out of Azkaban. He's trying to spell his way in and is hollering something about a traitor as best as I can tell. I tell you this new hearing aid is great. I can hear everything within a mile, I swear."

"No one wants to hear about your hearing aid again, Clyde," a man shouted good-naturedly, causing laughter to erupt around the room.

"Behave, boys," the witch chided, even as she sauntered away, heading toward the door.

"You know I would never allow anything to happen to you, Potter," Severus said softly. "So please, calm yourself. "

"I'll try, sir. But, what is Azkaban? A bad place?"

"It's the wizarding prison," he answered. "A place you're not to end up in, hear?"

"Yes, sir."

Harry's appetite had decreased somewhat, but he managed to eat all of his food anyway. Food was not something to waste after all. His enthusiasm returned though when Rosmerta came back with an extra large slice of pie for him, her good mood restored.

"He cleared his plate," she said as Severus arched his eyebrow at the serving size, "he deserves a little extra."

"A little?" he said dryly, although his criticism ceased when he saw that his helping of tart was as large as the boy's.

Rosmerta pulled a chair near to their table and sat, helping herself to a glass of water from a jug on the table.

"Is he gone, ma'am?" Harry asked, between bites.

"I sent him away," she confirmed, reaching over to brush some crumbs from the corner of his mouth. "Some of them take a hint after a few minutes, but he was one of those stubborn ones. An aguamenti sent him off though. It isn't too pleasant in this weather."

"What's that?"

"It's a charm to produce a jet of water," Severus explained. "You'll learn it in your sixth year."

"Hit him square in the face," she added. "Would have soaked him as well but that would have been a tad cruel. Do you like the pie, Evan?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said with a furious nod.

The woman smiled and pinched his cheek affectionately. "And you Severus? Is the treacle tart up to your illustrious standard?"

"You are hopeless, woman," he grumbled.

"Someone has to keep you in check," she laughed. "Now Evan, let me tell you the best ways of handling this grouch."

The pair left the establishment a few minutes later, Harry armed with several new ways of handling the potions master's moods. Harry waved goodbye to the woman, ducking his head in embarrassment when she blew a kiss to him, urging him to come back soon.

"And I expect you here in January, Severus," she called out as they walked away. "Once or twice a year simply does not cut it. And don't think that I won't show up in Hogwarts to fetch you if you keep me waiting."

"As if you could," Severus scoffed, although, as far as Harry could tell, he was far from displeased by the prospect.

"Don't you dare listen to her," he warned, wrapping an arm around his shoulder once again. "It'll only land you in hot water with me."

"I'll just have to get the headmaster to help me then," Harry grinned. "Where are we going now, sir?"

"Nowhere really," he shrugged. "I want to walk for a bit to work off that meal. Did you get a gift for Miss Granger? There are a few shops around here you can check."

"I got her a charmed hairbrush," he responded. "The headmaster made the enchantments permanent. She really liked the brush you gave me."

"This is the first and last time you can get a witch such a gift," he said with some amusement. "Next time you might get hexed."

"Why?"

"Women generally don't like the implications that their appearance isn't satisfactory. Miss Granger may not have reached that stage yet, but she will eventually."

"Why?"

"I can't answer that child, but that's just the way it is."

"Okay."

"Let's go into some shops anyway. You may see something you want for yourself."

"Your reputation will suffer even further," Harry pointed out.

"Rosmerta's already shattered it," he muttered. "This one sells sweets. We'll start here."

*

"You don't have to look so smug you know," Albus grumbled, glaring at his familiar.

Fawkes trilled at him in amusement before flying from the kitchen, leaving him to mope in peace.

"Traitor," he called after him.

This was one of the times that Albus would willingly admit that his plan had backfired on him. It never occurred to him that tricking Severus out of the house for a few hours would leave him so bored. There was absolutely nothing left for him to do. He had secreted himself away in his bedroom for a good hour or so after he had heard the potions master heading toward his potions laboratory. After all, there was only a fifty percent chance that the man would actually go out to purchase new ingredients. There was an equal chance that he would have just sought him out and demand that he return them.

He had been pleased when a note had appeared instead, stating that Severus was going out, and taking Harry with him. That had been somewhat surprising and for a moment he had wondered if this was just Severus' way of luring him from the safety of his room. After all, he had had a brief moment of envy and had almost dressed to join them downstairs. A next family outing sounded like a splendid idea, but, he had restrained himself. Let the younger ones spend some time together, he had rationalised as he relaxed himself.

It was only when he was absolutely certain they had gone that he ventured from his room. It took him a few minutes to reacquaint himself with an absolutely silent and empty house, and he found that it was not a feeling he enjoyed in the least. He had grown too accustomed to hearing those soft but constant sounds Severus made as he worked or walked around. As well as the random pattering of footsteps as Harry moved from one area to the other, stopping to chat with the amiable portrait in the corridor, or calling for Fawkes to join him in one amusement or another.

Huffing slightly at the emptiness of the house, he retrieved the missing potions ingredients before returning them to their rightful place. Half an hour more passed and he found himself removing the ingredients again, this time to finish the potions himself. But that killed only forty minutes, and there still was no sign of life from the floo. He reasoned that Severus was guiding Harry about Hogsmeade, but surely it did not take that long. The village wasn't exactly enormous.

But even after he had had two cups of tea, rearranged the kitchen shelves and drew a bath for the pair (since it was now snowing and they were bound to be chilled), he found himself staring listlessly around the kitchen, even pouting slightly at the large basket that Rosmerta's elf had just delivered to them. Even the humour of the attached note was lost to him. Thinking about teasing Severus was not as fun as actually doing it. How he wished that they would come home already. And, Fawkes had absolutely no sympathy for him in the situation; indeed, he felt it was a just reward for him plotting the whole thing to start with. But really, what was left to do in the village? They had already eaten; had they decided to go somewhere else for a while? Diagon maybe?

Albus stroked at his beard agitatedly, fighting against the urge to go look for the pair. He knew that there was nothing to worry about; Severus was more than capable of handling anything untoward that might have happened. He was just being silly. Perhaps instead of sitting here, worrying himself unnecessarily, he was better off doing something until they returned.

Half an hour later, the man's head rose from the book he was reading as he heard the fireplace roar to life. A contented smile formed on his lips as he heard the two talking to each other. After a moment, he heard the telltale sound of Fawkes flashing into the room and joining them and soon after, Harry called his name.

"I'm in the kitchen my boy," he returned jovially, glad that he was able to keep the excitement out of his voice. Severus would never let him live it down if he suspected that he had passed the time in near misery and boredom.

"You're up then, sir?" Harry said as he entered the kitchen. "Did you sleep well?"

His lips twitched beneath his beard but he nodded regardless. "I had a good rest. How was it? "

"Brilliant, sir!" he beamed. "Hogsmeade is great! There were so many shops! Plus we had something to eat with Madam Rosmerta. She's really nice. Professor Snape promised we'd go back again. Would you come with us next time?"

"Of course I will. It sounds like you had a lot of fun, my boy."

"So much fun that he couldn't wait to tell you," Severus said wryly as he appeared. "You do realise you've left me with all the bags, Potter?"

The boy shot him a sheepish look. "Sorry."

"You could have taken care of those with a mere flick of a wand," Albus pointed out. "Anything for me in those bags?"

"As if we'd tell you," the potions master shot back. "And Potter, please tell Albus what I've taught you about magic?"

"Not to use it unnecessarily."

"I wish you wouldn't teach the child such things," Albus said chidingly, "what's the point of being a wizard if you don't use magic? Severus is just an old grouch!"

"Well if I'm old, you're ancient," he deadpanned.

Albus clucked at him before appraising Harry's state. Reaching out, he brushed a few melting snow flakes off his head before pressing a hand against his forehead. "You're cold. I've already run a bath for you, so why don't you go on up? I'll have hot chocolate waiting for you."

"Brilliant," Harry beamed before moving away from him.

"As if you need any more sweets today," Severus scoffed, though he patted the boy's shoulder as he passed him.

"There's a bath ready for you as well, Severus."

"You were that bored?"

"Whatever do you mean?" he asked, careful to keep his expression natural. "I had a most productive afternoon."

"If you say so," he said in a slightly disbelieving tone. "I would thank you for the bath, but it's rather useless to me currently. My potions laboratory will more than warm me up while I finish the potions. Excuse me; have fun with Potter."

Briefly, Albus considered telling Severus that the work was already done, but, he decided, it would serve him right after implying that he could not keep his own company for an afternoon (even though it was true). With that in mind, he offered only a token protest before allowing the younger wizard to leave knowing that he would reappear shortly. With a slight spring in his step, he went about organising the drinks for them.

As he expected, less than five minutes later, Severus strode into the kitchen with a scowl on his face. "I knew it," he snapped. "You did hide them!"

"Whatever do you mean, my boy?" he asked glibly, giving him an innocent smile. "Is it my fault that you were so overworked that you forgot exactly where you left your ingredients? Now if you had only listened to me when I told you that you needed a break this would not have happened. See, elders know best."

"I ought to..."

"Hex me?" Albus interrupted. "You've been threatening that for years, and the nearest you've come is making my lemon drops bitter. You still haven't apologised for that by the way, but fear not, I hold no grudges. So why don't you go have that bath after all? I'm sure it'll do you wonders. See, Rosmerta even sent a plate of treacle tarts. Why didn't you tell me you were partial to them? I would have made them more readily available had I known."

"Rosmerta?" Severus said in confusion, choosing to ignore the man's previous words. "Why on earth would she tell you that?"

"See?" he said, moving so that the basket became visible. "She sent this a little while ago; said that it was so nice seeing you and Harry together that she couldn't resist. Ah! She also said to tell you to bring him as he is next time. She wants to see for herself if he really is the perfect balance between Lily and James."

For the first time in a long while, Albus was privy to a completely dumbfounded Severus. He could not blame the man. After all, Harry's glamour was still firmly in place when he had sent him up to his bath, and Rosmerta, no matter how kind-hearted, was far from the brightest witch alive. There was very little chance that she had seen through the glamour. Severus though was not that liberal of a thinker to look for an alternate, and rather obvious, solution to his dilemma.

"Your little facade was perfect," Albus stated reassuringly.

"Then how?"

"Hagrid," he said with a laugh. "He really does have a soft spot for the lad. Oh I can remember when Harry was a mere babe and Lily and James used to bring him about. Hagrid was always among his favourite play-mates, and I suppose that hasn't changed. He's been boasting to Rosmerta about Harry and how sweet a child he is and how we get along so beautifully. Seeing you with a child – something strange in itself – it wasn't too hard for her to realise that Evan wasn't exactly whom he claimed to be."

"I will be having words with that oaf," Severus grumbled.

"Oh, leave him be," Albus bid. "My guardianship of Harry isn't some grand secret after all. Besides, Hagrid will never tell someone with less than stellar intentions."

"Speaking of which," the potions master said, redirecting the conversation, "you'll want to consider extra measures come the new term regarding Hogsmeade trips."

"Oh?"

"There's a new wizard in town; and apparently he's been causing them a bit of trouble recently. He actually started following Potter and I at one point, but he was rather easy to evade."

Albus' frown crinkled in concern. "That isn't good," he agreed. "Especially if there's a risk he'd harass the students."

"I think Azkaban's made him delusional actually," he continued. "But then again, he was drunk. His words made little sense, although the more the wind picked up the less we heard."

"Did you make out anything he said?"

"I really didn't pay him much heed," he admitted. "I was more concerned with getting Potter into a store and away from him. He didn't need his outing spoilt by a drunkard. But I'll take a look in the pensieve later if you will."

"Please do," he nodded. "It'll be nice if I can get an idea of his appearance. But, why did you say that I would see about it? Shoving this responsibility on me?"

Severus frowned slightly. "This won't be my issue to deal with come next year," he reminded him. "Minerva will be back in January – right?" he added when Albus looked away. "Old man?"

"I can't say actually," Albus said after a moment. "She hasn't contacted me as yet. Nevertheless...the warming charm won't last forever you know. And Harry's bound to be done by now."

"That is in no way subtle," Severus snorted, but nevertheless, he accepted the topic change.

He didn't know what the old man was thinking, but it was clear that he was not ready to share it with him yet. He could and would respect that.

"I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Take your time my boy, there's no rush."

"Sure. Oh and your presence is not required in the kitchen tomorrow afternoon. You'll have to amuse yourself again I'm afraid."

"But why?" Albus demanded, a plaintive note in his voice.

Severus smirked at him before sauntering from the room, leaving the man to his grumbling.


	39. Chapter 39

Severus stretched his arms above his head in a bone-popping movement, humming in contentment. He had just left the Owlery, having delivered the last batch of letters for the year. His work was officially over now, and, checking the time, he noted that he had finished a good two hours ahead of schedule. It was good, he supposed, as he moved toward one of the large arch windows. He and Potter could return to Cottage House early, and perhaps make greater inroads into their afternoon of cooking. Yes, that sounded like a splendid idea, except that he didn't really know where the boy was currently.

They had shooed him from the office a while ago. It really had been too good a morning to have him cooped up in there with them, not that he had minded in the least. Nevertheless, the men had both agreed that he would have more fun exploring the castle, and with few students left at the school, there was little chance of anyone bothering him. However, given that they had instructed him not to return until lunchtime, Severus knew that he would either have to go find Potter himself or return to the office and stave off Albus' inquiries regarding what they were planning to make him.

"Daydreaming, Severus?" an amused voice asked.

Blinking in surprise, the potions master turned, slightly chagrined to see Filius standing only a few feet away from him. He had been so lost in his thoughts that he had not even noticed the man's approach.

"I'm wondering where Potter is actually," he admitted, turning away from the window.

"I saw him trailing after Hagrid earlier," Filius said after a moment's thought. "He's probably still with him. Hagrid found a unicorn foal the other day with a broken leg; undoubtedly, he's showing it to Harry."

"A foal this time of year?" Severus asked sceptically.

Filius chuckled ruefully. "I thought the same thing, but you know how Hagrid is. It's probably fully grown."

"Now that I believe," he murmured.

"So how are your holidays progressing?" Filius asked as they started walking down the corridor together. "Rosmerta told me that you and Harry spent some time there. Forgive me for saying this, but it's good to know that the two of you are getting along."

"It is strange, isn't it?" he admitted, "but Potter's quite the endearing child. I'm glad that I've come to see that."

"I agree."

Eventually they paused at a window which provided a view of the Great Lake. There were several students either chasing or throwing snow at each other. A closer look revealed two of them to be the youngest of the Weasley bunch. Filius chuckled at their antics, while Severus simply shook his head, although a smile tugged at his lips as he recalled the afternoon in the snow he had had with Potter and the headmaster.

"Oh to be a child again," Filius said wistfully leaning forward slightly for a closer look.

Severus snorted lightly at the man's sentiments. He would never consider returning to those years of his life. There had been good moments, but they had been firmly outweighed by the negative. He chose not to dwell on the dismal thought though; instead, he snickered slightly when, with a mischievous grin, the Charms Master took out and twirled his wand. The result was instantaneous, as, near the playing students, several heaps of snow moved and formed into humanoid figures, before launching attacks on the students. Despite the distance, the delighted shrieks of the children reached the men's ears on the chilly wind as the students banded together against their 'attackers'.

"You do this often?" Severus questioned after a moment, noting that the children had not seemed too surprised by the manifestations.

"Whenever I catch them about," he responded. "They think it's the magic of Hogwarts. Young Percy Weasley told me such while thanking me for keeping the twins occupied for a few hours. It gave him time to study apparently."

"And that is exactly why I consider him the only sane one of the bunch."

"Shame on you, Severus," the man chided, although the effect was ruined by the mirth in his voice. "You should not speak of the students that way."

"Oh?" he asked, arching an eyebrow. "Can you honestly say you've never felt as if the Weasley twins required their own mind-healer?"

"They can be extreme at times," he allowed.

"Extreme is an understatement," Severus snorted. "Nevertheless, I was on my way to find Potter before you interrupted me."

"Trying to get rid of me so soon, Severus?" he asked. "Unfortunately, I cannot oblige. It's not often I find you in a chatty mood. Come on, let's go find Harry together."

The potions master stared at his former professor for a long moment, waging on how much effort it would take to dissuade the man. After a moment, his shoulders slumped slightly as he decided that it was a battle not worth fighting. He could rival Albus in regards to stubbornness if the urge took him.

"Nice of you to see things my way," Filius grinned as he walked ahead. "I was just about to assign you detention for disobeying."

"I'm not your student anymore, Filius."

"As if that would have stopped me," he tossed back. "Besides that, Argus is complaining that you've stopped visiting him. He could use the company."

"I'll be sure to visit him then," Severus acknowledged.

It was not that he particularly enjoyed Argus' company, however in terms of being disillusioned with the world, the man was a perfect complement to him...or used to be depending on how he looked at it.

"Speaking of visiting, Rosmerta reiterates that she expects you back before the year is out."

"Acting the part of a messenger, are we?"

"I'm there often enough," he shrugged. "I heard all about your visit with Harry."

"Has the drunkard bothered her again?" he asked, neatly diverting that topic line.

"He's no longer a bother. You know how Rosmerta is – he came by and apologised a few days later and offered to help her around the place to make up for it."

"How...nice of him."

Filius caught the undertone to his words. "I've spoken to her about it," he stated, "especially since she's all but hired him now. She's all for second chances and he really has not made any trouble since."

"His name?"

"He calls himself Johnson Waverly."

"Calls?"

"It's obviously a false name," Filius said shrewdly. "But given that he's recently out of Azkaban, it's understandable. It's his chance for a new beginning."

"Hmm."

"And there's Harry," the Charms master said after a minute or so of silence, during which Severus had withdrawn into his own thoughts.

Severus blinked in surprise, shocked to see that they had reached the doors of the castle. Looking to where the man was pointing, he indeed saw the twelve year old trailing behind Hagrid, a grin on his face as he talked animatedly with him.

"What exactly did Hagrid have him doing?" he asked as he took in the boy's entire appearance. There were obvious dirty patches on his clothing and, save for early mornings, Severus could not remember seeing the boy's head in that state of disarray for a long time.

"He looks happy, Severus. Don't you dare scold him."

Severus had had no intention of doing so, but the temptation to cross the man had him summoning a small scowl when the walking pair neared the castle enough to notice their presence. The expression faded immediately though when Potter's eyes landed on him, and, with a happy shout, he raced over, panting slightly when he stopped before him, cheeks rosy and his eyes sparkling with pleasure.

"You've finished, sir?" he asked.

"I have," he confirmed, resisting the urge to smoothen his hair. "You have yet to greet Professor Flitwick."

"I'm sorry, sir," he said, with a slightly chagrined expression as he turned to him. "Hello."

"Have you had a fun morning with Hagrid?"

"Yes sir. I got to feed the unicorn...but then it thought my hair was food! It kept nibbling at it."

"I told yeh, Harry," Hagrid declared, upon reaching them. "'e was jus' trying to play with yeh. Good day Professor Flitwick, Professor Snape."

"I know that, Hagrid," Harry laughed, "I like him."

"Is this 'him' the foal Hagrid found, Harry?"

"Yes, Professor," he answered. "Hagrid thinks that he might let me ride him once he's healthy."

"He's a natural with animals. Yeh ought to consider Care of the Magical Creatures, Harry."

"What's that?"

"A third year elective," Severus explained shortly, settling a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I told you that you would be selecting additional subjects to pursue in your third year. Or have you forgotten?"

"I did," he admitted sheepishly.

"Of course you did," he said, shaking his head slightly. "Speaking to you when Fawkes is about is useless nowadays. Regardless, bid Hagrid and the Professor a good day. Let's go home."

"Yes, sir."

"And, Filius?"

"Yes, Severus?"

"Tell Rosmerta that I'll be around in a few days."

"I will."

"Now isn't that a sight," Filius said a few moments later as he and the groundskeeper watched the pair retreat, Severus' arm slung around the boy's shoulders.

"I'm glad fer them," Hagrid said gruffly, patting at his coat. "If yeh could excuse me though, Professor, I bes' be getting back to my cabin. Purity gets antsy if I'm not around and I don't need 'im chewing on my bedsheet!"

"I'll come with you," Filius decided. "It's been ages since I've been up close to a unicorn."

"Yeh've interacted with them, Professor?" the man asked, with some surprise.

"Indeed I have. I'll tell you about it over lunch, hmm? Let's head down to Rosmerta once we've gotten the unicorn settled down. Besides, I have to tell her that I've conveyed her request to Severus."

"An owl wouldn't have done, Professor?"

"Perhaps, Hagrid," he allowed, "but an owl wouldn't give me a bowl full of her stew now would it?"

"No, it wouldn't," he agreed with a laugh, before leading the way back to his cabin.

*

"The mess didn't seem so big before," Severus muttered to himself as he surveyed the 'destruction' he and Potter had caused over the course of the afternoon.

A simple task of making sweets had evolved into a full-fledged baking session after Severus had informed the boy that he had asked Professor Sprout for a few household spells. The results had been enough to ensure that whatever food they made would remain fresh for months once the spells were correctly cast, and Severus was certain that, despite his inexperience with them, he would do so. Originally, he had had no intentions of helping the boy; indeed, he had brought down two of the old man's books with him after lunch, prepared to just be a supervisor while the boy got on with it.

Nevertheless, his interest had quickly been piqued, first by the boy's genuine culinary skills, and secondly by his incessant demands that he take the role of taster. It had led to some comments on his part, which ultimately resulted in him rolling up his sleeves and joining the twelve year old as they experimented with flavours and the like until they produced sweets that, in his own summation, even house-elves would be envious of. Despite their experimentation, there had been several hours left until Albus would return and so they had put aside the cooling sweets and moved on to cakes, biscuits, drinks and eventually dinner.

The results were that the kitchen was now a mess with the sink filled by dirty dishes, the floor in a mess – the flour Fawkes had knocked over was still there, and near it was the broken egg Potter had dropped when he had slipped in said flour. The boy had wanted to clean up immediately; however, Severus had thought it more prudent to send the twelve year old for his third bath that day before Albus questioned exactly what they had gotten into in the kitchen.

"Oh my," a voice said from behind him.

"Old man," he snapped, spinning to pin him with a stern glance. "You know you are banned from the kitchen!"

"Fawkes said that the things were already hidden; he did not show me what it was though. I promise I won't go snooping. Now, please do not tell me you plan on cleaning this manually? It will take forever and I was looking forward to a game before dinner! And...is that carrot in your hair?"

"No, it isn't," he grumbled before discreetly running his hand through it when the old man's attention averted away from him. "And yes, I was going to clean this up manually."

"No, Harry?"

"Bathing," Severus responded shortly. "I had hoped to finish before he returned. He's already outshone me at cooking; my pride cannot handle being out-cleaned as well."

"That honour goes to me I'm afraid," Albus laughed.

Severus arched an eyebrow as he turned toward him before glaring as he saw that the man had already used his magic to eradicate the majority of the mess and was now waving his wand casually at the filled sink. He huffed before fetching himself a drink.

"No argument?" Albus said curiously.

The man only shrugged, looking out the window briefly. "It's snowing again. I wonder if that is keeping Potter?"

"Oh?"

"He's probably dressing himself for a trek outside. Haven't you realised it's his new favourite activity?"

"I have," Albus acknowledged, "but I was hoping we could spend the evening together. You've already monopolised him for the afternoon."

"Then put on a winter coat and join him."

"Why didn't I think of that?"

"Because you're too busy pouting about not cooking with us. And mind you, you will be surprised when you open your present."

"Yes, yes," he said dismissively. "Although the child should realise that I already know what he's planned. After all, there are not too many things one can do in a kitchen besides cook. Unless...was this all an elaborate ruse to divert me from your real intentions?"

"Keep dreaming," Severus snorted, before moving to the door. "Potter," he called loudly, "the old man is being particularly annoying. Come rectify that please."

"Coming!" the boy responded after a few seconds.

"Enjoy," he bid, glancing toward the man. "I'm going to finish that book I started. I'm not to be disturbed for at least three hours."

"One."

"One and a half and I will not bargain further."

"One hour and fifteen minutes it is then," Albus said cheerfully, before grinning when Harry appeared beside the potion master, dressed, as he had anticipated, for the outdoors.

"You're home, headmaster," he said by way of greeting. "It's snowing..."

"And you want out," he laughed. "That's fine. I can use a bit of fresh air after being stuck in that office for the entire day. Enjoy your book, Severus."

"I will."

*

The next night found the potions master peering around the doorway to the living room contemplatively. The old man was still seated in front of the fireplace, staring blankly into the flames. Something was wrong with the old man; he had noticed it ever since he had returned from Hogwarts that morning, but, with Potter around them for the majority of the day, this was the only opportunity for him to question the man about it.

"What's wrong?" Severus asked, as he walked into the living room.

Albus glanced at him before returning his gaze to the crackling fireplace. "Why would you ask that, my boy? Everything is fine."

"So you staring incessantly at the fireplace is normal then?" he said snidely, claiming a chair across from him. "I won't have it. You'll worry Potter if you keep this up."

"Oh?" he asked, offering him a sly smile. "It's Harry that I will worry?"

The potions master glared at him for a moment, before dropping the look. "You won't distract me, old man. What is wrong? You've been quiet ever since you returned from the office. What happened? You were just meant to go sign the last bit of papers, not return here looking as if Christmas has been cancelled."

Albus looked at the man for a long moment before sighing. It really was no use trying to divert Severus when he got into such a mood, he reflected. He would persist until he got the answers that he desired.

"Minerva floo called," he said shortly, looking away once again.

"Finally," Severus huffed. "She should have gotten into contact with you at least a week ago. When will she be back?"

"She won't be back," he responded quietly, "at least not for this academic year."

"What?" Severus gaped, caught off-guard by the man's words. "Look, Albus," he continued, when he had collected himself, "you know I believe that her behaviour was unacceptable, but suspending her for the entire year...that's too much."

"It was not my idea, Severus," the headmaster corrected, "well, not entirely so. Minerva, had I had my way, would indeed have been back in time for the second term – once I was completely certain that she had re-assessed herself of course. She's decided to remain with her family though, and truthfully I had left that option open to her. She thinks that she's better off being a grandmother to the new babe now, and from what she said, her daughter's health is still in a precarious state. With this in mind, I could not refuse her request. Perhaps she will be ready to rejoin the Hogwart's staff for the next academic year, or else I truly will have to replace her. That is a long time off though..."

"And that is what has had you brooding?" Severus pressed. "It seems rather unlikely. Albus...you need not worry. The staff will continue to support you. I'm not entirely pleased, I will honestly say that, but I will, if you require, continue on in my role as Deputy, and I am certain everyone else will be willing to do what they have been in this. You need not worry about finding replacements for us as yet, only yourself if you believe the task too difficult."

"I enjoy teaching," he responded. "These past few weeks have reminded me how much I used to enjoy being in the classroom. I had considered formulating a new class to overlook, perhaps that class in Wizarding Culture that Charity has been recommending."

"You really should put it on stream," Severus agreed. "The number of muggleborn and raised in the school is increasing. It would benefit them."

"The same can be said for the wizarding raised," Albus countered. "Charity's also advocating that Muggle Studies be compulsory for them during the first and second year."

"Let's talk about this another time," Severus bid, "and focus on you for the moment. Why is this bothering you so much? Besides the potential strain to the schedules, you have no reason to react so. It's out of character for you."

"Perhaps I'm tired, Severus," the headmaster said softly, leaning back against his chair. "It has been a long week, and Minerva's words, frankly, could have come at a better time. I'm not young you know. Such shocks can perturb me."

"Can but don't usually," the potions master retorted easily. Nevertheless, the man did not push the matter further. Something told him that Albus was not being entirely truthful to him; something else had occurred besides her choosing not to return to the school, but he suspected that it was something deeply personal, and, as such, he decided against prying further.

Instead, he rose, and, without the man's notice, left the room. Ten minutes later he returned with a tea tray, startling the thoughtful looking headmaster when he placed it on the side table beside him.

"When did you leave?" Albus asked in surprise.

"Never mind that," he said dismissively, before passing him a cup. "Here you go; I added something to relax you. When you're in these moods you want to stay up the majority of the night, and tomorrow, out of all the days, you need your energy. Between Potter and the Christmas meals, you won't have a moment for yourself."

"Thank you for your concern, my boy," he said sincerely. "I am looking forward to Harry's reactions in the morning though. I'm surprised he settled down for bed as easily as he did."

"That's because I saw to him," Severus smirked. "He went right to sleep and I suspect that he'll stay that way until morning. It's been a long day for him as well. I almost had to drag him in out of the snow you know, and even then, Fawkes helped him hide from me."

"Let the child be," Albus chuckled. "Soon enough he'll be cooped up into the classroom once again; he deserves to relax when he has the chance. Also, has Hedwig returned as yet?"

"No. I suspect that she's gone to Longbottom and Granger. Potter's gifts for them went missing around that time."

"What a smart owl," he smiled. "She left shortly after he wrapped them right?"

"Indeed. It took a while to relax Potter though. It's her first delivery, albeit an unauthorised one. Hopefully she is fine, although I've asked Fawkes to go look for her if she is not back by the morning. With the promise of a bag of treats, I'm certain that he won't dally."

"I'm sure she's fine. She's a resilient bird. Are you retiring now?" he questioned, when he saw that the potions master was stifling a yawn.

"I am," he said after a moment. "I am rather tired."

"You've worked hard today," Albus agreed. "Go on up then, my boy, and straight to bed. You don't want to receive coals in the morning for staying up too late."

"I'm past the age for that," Severus smirked, "nevertheless, good night. I'll see you in the morning."

"Good night, Severus," he returned, before sipping on the tea as the man retreated up the stairs.

Albus remained on the chair long after the tea in his cup cooled. Without Severus' presence to distract him, his mind easily returned to his conversation with his long time friend that morning. To use the word confrontation would be too strong, for in truth, nary an accusation or angry word had passed between them. Albus had simply inquired, after inviting her through, the true reason behind her antagonism toward his wards on that day. It was a long-coming question, one that he had deemed inappropriate to ask on the day of her departure all those months ago, but one that he truly needed answered. For, he could not trust the woman in either of his boys' presence without gleaning the motivation behind her harsh actions and words toward them.

The woman had hedged for a long while, however, as most people did, she eventually caved beneath that twinkling, grandfatherly look he had long since mastered, and had revealed, with some reluctance, the information he had been seeking. Nevertheless, he had not expected what she had said; indeed, her words were like a punch to his stomach, a blow not easily overcome. Hours later her voice still rang in his head and the implications of it as well. It had kept him preoccupied with his own thoughts, to the extent that he ignored everything occurring around him. Could it be true what the woman had accused him of doing? And if it was, he knew that he would have to lessen his condemnation of her for what she had done for, as unorthodox as her actions had been, they truly had been done in defence of him. She had been trying to keep him from further hurt, but really, after all these years, had he not made peace with himself and his past?

The sad truth was, he did not have the answers to those questions, for he had buried those unfortunate years of his life (the best years, a voice quietly argued) deep within his mind. In fact, the only reference to it was that silver framed picture residing on his bedside table. But was that truly the case? A disgruntled sigh passed the man's lips as he raised a hand to his forehead, feeling the beginnings of a headache forming. He was a man of great aptitude, capable of, without much effort, resolving the most pressing of crises, and yet, on this deeply personal matter, he floundered on how to address it. Dismissing the woman's words would be the easiest solution, nevertheless, Minerva knew him well. For her to believe that it was an issue most likely meant that, to some extent, it truly was a problem that needed to be addressed.

But did he truly want to?


	40. Chapter 40

Severus rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he entered the kitchen. Where was the old man? It was almost seven o clock in the morning, and, while he himself had slept in a bit longer than normal, he was surprised to see that the old man was still asleep. Or, he corrected, he assumed he was still sleeping, for, glancing toward the living room, he saw that the fireplace was flaming lazily. Therefore, it was quite possible that the old man had gone out, although truly, where would he go on Christmas morning, especially as it was Potter's first in the house?

"Fawkes?" he called out, even as he reached for the coffee pot.

The coffee had already been brewed, however, after pouring a cup, and taking a sip, he determined that it was a house-elf, and not the headmaster, who was responsible for that. It also implied that the old man had not been responsible for the meal that was now laid out on the table. The phoenix finally flashed into the room, landing easily on the counter, eyeing him curiously.

"Is the old man still in bed?" he inquired, slowly moving to pour himself a cup.

The phoenix sent him a few images, and, processing it, he noted that the old coot was indeed, still asleep, having remained awake for the majority of the night.

"Doing what?" he huffed, taking another drink. After a moment though, he frowned, wondering if the man's seeming insomnia had anything to do with his odd behaviour the night before. Perhaps he should have remained and coerced him into speaking? He dismissed the thought though; Albus was very liberal with his thoughts. If it had been serious, he would have asked him to remain with him to discuss it. Nevertheless, the potions master could not entirely convince himself of the fact, and so, it was with a slightly worried expression, he returned upstairs.

Knocking at the man's door garnered no response, and so, he eased the door open to look inside. The man seemed to be resting comfortably enough, although, on closer inspection, Severus gleaned a hint of distress on his features. Severus' brows furrowed into a frown as he thought about the best way forward. Ultimately, he left the bedroom, heading for Potter's. There really was no time currently to deal with whatever it was that was disturbing Albus. He was better off distracting him from his thoughts until the opportunity for discussion arose. And what better distraction was there for the old man than his young ward? He did not bother knocking as he entered the room – there was little chance of him being awake anyway. Pulling the curtains open, he allowed light to filter into the bedroom, although it did little to rouse Potter. He did not awaken until he shook his shoulder gently, and even then, it took almost a minute for him to do more than stare drowsily up at him.

"'is morning?" he mumbled around a yawn, sitting up.

"Obviously," he retorted, even as he pulled the sheets off him. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah."

"That's good to know. Now into the bathroom and brush your teeth. You have ten minutes."

"Gotta shower," Harry protested, even as he shot a morose glance to his pillow.

Severus noted the look with slight consternation. "It is Christmas morning, Potter. Do you really want to sleep instead of playing with your gifts?"

The boy looked as if he was giving serious thought to the matter, before he shrugged. "Hungry," he muttered before rising.

The unexpected statement brought a rueful chuckle from the man, who reminded himself that Potter would be entering the age of puberty soon enough. Food would undoubtedly become a priority for him if his current attitude was anything to go by.

"Don't bother to shower," he said, even as he batted his hands away from the sheets. "I'll tidy the bed for you, so heed me please."

"Yes sir," he agreed before ambling toward the bathroom, yawning once again.

Thankfully, Potter was more awake when he exited the bathroom. He gave him a lopsided grin as he reached him before wrapping his arms around his middle in a hug. Shaking his head slightly, Severus dropped his hand down to ruffle his hair. "Good morning, sir," he said, "Merry Christmas."

"And a good Yuletide to you," he returned, before extracting himself from the embrace. "Now that you are awake, shall we go get the old man out of bed?"

"He's still asleep?" Potter asked in surprise.

"Yes he is, and it is your task to get him out of bed."

"Why me?" he inquired curiously as they walked from the room. "Can't you do it?"

"I can," he shrugged, "but I rather go downstairs and plate breakfast. It will save time and you are hungry."

Potter blushed at the teasing edge to his voice, but was saved from responding by Fawkes landing on his shoulder. He cooed at the bird for long moments while stroking it under its beak.

"Fawn over Drumstick later," Severus bid, ignoring the dark look the bird shot his way. "Get Albus up and about and then meet me downstairs."

"I'm not allowed into your bedrooms though," he pointed out.

"Today you are," he declared before walking off. "The old man will love the surprise. Now don't dawdle or I'll start eating without the both of you."

"Yes sir," he agreed, although he added in a lower tone to the phoenix. "I think he just doesn't want to do it."

"You got that right," Severus muttered, before activating the staircase.

While he would usually hesitate before shoving a responsibility upon another person, he felt it almost unavoidable in this case. The man was bound to respond better to the boy than him. Whereas Potter's presence would undoubtedly coax him into a better mood, were the old man to see him in his bedroom, he would undoubtedly make a comment that would earn him a hex in return. It was better this way. Even if the man was still perturbed by whatever was bothering him, he was bound to set it aside, if only for Potter's sake. He would simply have to keep a close eye on Albus for the remainder of the day, and, perhaps, if it seemed necessary, he would talk to him later when Potter was preoccupied with his new belongings.

He had finished pouring the last of the drinks when he heard a light patter coming down the steps.

"Is he coming down?" he asked, when Potter entered the room.

"He is," he responded before moving to assist him.

Something in Potter's tone caught his attention though, and thus, he eyed him curiously. "What is it?"

"Hmm?"

Focussing on his expression, Severus discerned a hint of confusion. "Is something wrong?" he pressed. He seriously doubted that Albus would have done anything to disturb the boy, but still, it would not hurt to ask.

Potter shrugged, frowning briefly. "I don't know," he admitted, wringing a napkin in his hands. "It's just that...I...I don't think he called me Harry."

"What?"

The boy met his gaze fully then although, when he spoke, his voice sounded more assured. "He didn't call me Harry...I thought I was mistaken the first time, but I really don't think he did. He called me Brian."

Too surprised by the name, Severus was unable to mask the shock on his face from Potter's eyes. The boy eyed him curiously before asking, "Do you know why he called me that, sir?"

Severus certainly did, but, he had no idea where to start explaining it to him, nor did he believe it was his right to do so. The man did not respond to the question immediately, preoccupied as he was by his own thoughts. What exactly could have caused the old man to slip up to this extent? More than that, how was he supposed to deal with the situation? Even now, Potter was looking at him with a curious expression on his face, and Severus knew that he would not be satisfied without an answer. As is, he was certain that the boy had not called Albus out on the matter, but if he refused to answer, he was certain that the twelve year old would eventually ask him about it, especially if he repeated the action.

However, before the potions master could begin to respond, Fawkes flew into the room, a good indicator that the old man was not too far behind.

"We will speak of this later," he said, hoping his tone conveyed to the boy that he was not to bring up the matter before then.

He seemed to understand, for he nodded in agreement, although it was clear that his curiosity remained. Severus could not fault him for that though; were he in his position, he would want answers as well. The man could only hope that the allure of his presents would be an adequate distraction for him until they could speak privately. More than that, Severus hoped that he would be in a position to answer him when that time came. The potions master quickly schooled his features as the old man entered the kitchen, smiling in that grandfatherly way at them. The happiness did not quite reach his eyes; however, there was genuine affection on his face when he bent to hug Potter before patting his shoulder in greeting as he passed him, before claiming a chair.

"I see you conspired against me this morning," he said after a few minutes.

"It is not my fault that you decided to sleep in," he retorted, carefully encouraging their regular banter in the hopes that it would further draw the man out from his mood.

"Perhaps, but did you really have to tell the boy to jump on the bed?"

"You did that?" Severus asked in surprise, shooting the flushing boy an incredulous look.

"Fawkes suggested it," he replied. "It was fun..."

Albus laughed softly at that. Potter gave him a quick grin before refocusing on his plate.

Severus noted the hearty appetite with some satisfaction, before spending the remainder of the meal discretely analysing the old man. Despite the smile on his face, and the teasing remarks he directed toward them, Severus clearly saw the effort it was taking for the old man to act normally, but truthfully, it was a strain for him not to reveal that he knew something was wrong with him. Thankfully, once Potter had had his fill of his gifts, they would move on to Hogwarts, which would give him some time away from the man to plan a course of action. As it was, he had no idea how to approach the situation.

More and more, Severus found himself comparing Potter's physical appearance to that of Brian's. He supposed that, if one ignored the glasses, there was some resemblance between them. And perhaps Potter had unknowingly mimicked his actions with the man? That could account for the mistake. However, that explanation was too simple and so the potions master doubted that it was the case. He honestly wished that he could ignore the matter entirely, but he knew that circumstances would not allow it. Potter deserved answers and he would get them. Severus though, had to decide whether those answers would come from him or the old man.

*

The day had come and gone, and yet, Severus was no closer to finding a resolution to his dilemma. To be honest, he had not had much time past breakfast to dwell on the matter. They had had a busy schedule to follow, and, although hustling about was not too unfamiliar to him, enduring the Christmas lunch had proved to be particularly trying for him. He had rarely attended the meal in the past, and it only took him a few minutes to recall why he usually begged off from it. It was one thing to be seated separately from the students; however, with the traditional tables banished in favour of a large round one, he had had a firsthand look at the etiquette, or lack thereof, of the students. The mere thought of it was enough to bring a slight grimace to his face.

He had managed to keep Potter seated beside him for the meal, something that had proven necessary given the occasional stares the students directed his way. They were well aware that he had not signed up to stay over the holidays, and so, his sudden reappearance was a bit of a mystery. It was something he and Albus had not catered for, and he had been forced to improvise to stop the boy from being plagued with questions. It would have been too blatant to seat him between himself and Albus, and so he had sat beside Professor Sinistra, putting the twelve year old beside him. After all, two students inevitably would have had to sit directly beside a teacher anyway, so that was not too strange. And, the occasional glares to the most stringent of gossipers quickly brought an end to the whispered speculation regarding Potter's presence there.

He was pleased to note that the boy had handled himself beautifully during the meal. He had not shied away from the attention, and had even managed to engage Percy Weasley in conversation more than once. Once the meal had been completed, they had returned home, parting for a few hours. Both Potter and the old man had retired to their rooms for naps and, by the time either had awakened, he had locked himself away in his laboratory, ready to experiment with the new ingredients that Albus had given him.

But now, it was a little after nine in the night and he was wondering if the old man remembered that he was waiting downstairs for him. Surprisingly, it was not him, but Albus, who had requested this conversation. He had agreed easily, and, while Albus was upstairs saying a few last words to Potter, he went about cleaning the kitchen before fixing them a tea tray. However, when the clock signalled that it was half nine, he felt himself grow agitated. There was no way that he was still with Potter; the day's excitement would certainly have caused him to fall asleep by now. Therefore, what was keeping the old man? Ten minutes later, scowling, he headed up the stairs in search of him, only to pause at the top of the steps.

The old man was standing in the doorway of Potter's playroom, looking into the room with a slightly haunted expression. Severus felt his annoyance fade away immediately at the sight; instead, he shifted uncomfortably at the decidedly sombre atmosphere that surrounded the man.

"Have you noticed it, Severus?" the man asked quietly, startling the potions master, who had doubted Albus had noticed his approach.

"Noticed what?" he responded carefully as he reached the man's side.

Albus did not look at him, but instead, entered the room, the light flicking on automatically. "Have you noticed this," he elaborated, waving his hand about the room. "I certainly did not, although Harry's presents from me this morning made it abundantly clear to me...well, more so."

Severus frowned, trying and failing to follow the man's train of thought. He called to mind that morning in the living room, paying particular attention to the old man's gifts to the boy. Certainly he had not been referring to the clothes or books; he could only mean the toys. Thinking about it drew Severus' mind to earlier that year; the day when Fawkes had first started speaking to Potter precisely. That had him looking at Albus with slightly widened eyes. He had his confirmation now; Albus' miscalling of Potter that morning was definitely tied into his rather dismal attitude for the remainder of the day. The old man was now seeing what he had first noticed then. While Potter truly did enjoy all of the amusements Albus had provided for him, all of the toys save the ones he had personally bought, were technically age inappropriate. All of them were suited for a young child, which was exactly what Brian had been.

"So you have noticed it," Albus said. "And yet you never chose to comment about it."

Severus cursed himself, realising that he must have allowed his emotions to show on his face. Nevertheless, there was little he could do to change that fact now. "I did," he confirmed, his voice shaking almost imperceptibly. After all, for all that knew the truth, Brian Dumbledore was a taboo subject, especially with the father of said child. The very thought of mentioning it in his presence unnerved him. When Albus had claimed 'guardianship' of him, Filius had, at the first opportunity, pulled him into his office. Not quite believing the man's words, Severus had demanded more proof, upon which Filius had procured a pensieve. To put it mildly, it had not been a pleasant sight to see, and he too treated the matter of his son with great caution.

Albus had only spoken of Brian to him once, and that had been in his initial days in his care. At that time they had been residing in Dumbledore Manor, a place with such a haunted history that Severus had been glad when the old man had relocated them here. He firmly believed that Albus had had no choice but to tell him about Brian then. Toys and other belongings had littered the place, all showing signs of age. He had thought then that the man had simply been overly sentimental. He was old after all; it was not entirely too strange that he would keep remnants of his son's youth about him. More than that, the way in which he had spoken of his son had given Severus every indication that he was alive, perhaps estranged from him as his brother was. Filius though had rid him of that notion and since then, he had joined in the reservation against bringing up the topic.

"Severus?"

"You are right," he stated, meeting his eyes. "I chose not to comment."

"She was right," he said. "How sad I am," he continued, "that no one even dares mention my failings to me." With a sigh, Albus dropped down into Harry's rocking chair, lacing his hands together.

Severus mimicked him, settling himself before he asked, "Who is this 'she'? Do you mean Minerva?"

"Yes," he confirmed with a nod. "She and I spoke for long moments, Severus. I had thought to use the opportunity to clear the air between us so to speak. I never did believe that Madison's condition was the only cause of her behaviour; especially toward you and Harry. I did not press her then, but, reluctantly I might add, she answered me this time. I truly had not expected her words, and I spent most of my time since then deciding on if she were speaking the truth. I had meant to ask you actually, but your reaction so far is enough. I really have made you both replacements for him."

"Elaborate please," he bid, "and do not be too quick to believe what the witch says."

"She knows me very well, my boy," he said mildly, "as do you. Can you honestly tell me that you've never wondered? She said that most of the staff who knows about him expressed some concerns about my relationship with you and now Harry at one point or another."

Severus blinked at that. He himself had on occasions watched over the old man and the boy with a critical expression. And, as the old man had hinted minutes before, he had seen signs of Albus transferring some of his past unto Potter. It had never occurred to him though that Albus would put him in that position as well. Yes, he had occasionally called him his son and fussed over him, but to that extent? He did not believe it. But then again, he had never thought to look for the signs, so perhaps it was there and he simply had never noticed it.

"I have noticed it one or two times in your interactions with Potter," he admitted. "It was never too much of a concern though. You seemed...clear that it was in fact Potter you were dealing with," he finished mildly, subtly referring to what the child had told him. Albus did not pick up on it though, and rather than bring up that matter, he pressed forward, deciding that it could be addressed at a later time. "What I do not understand though, is what has put you in this mood."

"Besides the fact that I have realised that I am using the both of you as a substitute for him?"

Severus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He could not handle this. Potter could be reasoned out of a dismal mood; he had no idea where to start with the old man. "What exactly have you failed at doing?" he asked, ignoring his comment.

Instead of answering, the man waved his hand. In the distance, he heard a door open before, a few seconds later, a silver picture frame – the one that always remained by the old man's bed, glided over into his hand.

"This," he responded, tracing a hand along its surface. "This is my failing, Severus. Brian died because of my actions, and rather than admit to my guilt, I've been pretending that you and Harry are him. I've been running from the truth since the day that he died. But I've gotten ahead of myself. Do you know how he died, Severus?"

Severus shook his head. Other than Albus, no one truly knew the circumstances surrounding Brian's death, although he personally suspected that it was the catalyst that had driven Albus to that final confrontation with Grindewald. Of course he knew of the speculations surrounding it, but he had never been one to trust the gossip surrounding the old man, especially since plenty of it abounded. If the headmaster was willing to speak about it, he would listen to him and take his viewpoint on the matter.

"Let me tell you then," Albus said, still stroking the photograph. "I have never had much luck with a family you know; neither with the one I was born into nor the one I later made for myself. Perhaps the third time will be the charm? I grew up, Severus, much like you, in a broken home. I will admit though, that my state was far less nefarious than yours. Both my parents loved me – they loved my brother and sister as well, but it was that very love that destroyed our home. I've told you about Ariana already and how her death..." Albus broke off for a long moment then, the old hurt coming to the forefront.

Severus waited patiently for him to speak again; although he knew this story already, he had an inkling that Albus just needed to talk it out; to let out all of the dark things that resided within him, but were usually carefully hidden behind that grandfatherly mask of his.

"Aberforth and I never spoke after that without coming to blows," he continued softly. "The number of times he's broken my nose...I guess neither of us are brave enough to risk casting a spell." A dry chuckle escaped him at that before he shook his head roughly, before focusing on Severus once again. "With Mother having died a few years before that and Father in Azkaban, there really was nothing left for me in Godric Hollow, so I left. It took me years to settle down somewhere – I spent my time experimenting with magic even as I pursued my Mastery. I settled into the post at Hogwarts and with the money I had accumulated with the results of my experimentations, I renovated the then dilapidated Dumbledore Manor, restoring it to what it is today.

"It was around then that I met her, the mother of my child. I must admit that I was less than careful than I should have been," he said with what could pass as a roughish grin briefly grazing his face. "I think that I had known her about three months or so before she told me that she was with child. I was shocked then, but also so happy. I wanted to marry her of course – despite the briefness of time, I knew my duty well. It took some convincing though for her to agree. She did not want to rush into a relationship despite the situation. She wanted to ensure that we could actually function as a family first, and I honoured that. She was about seven months pregnant when we finally married, and I was ecstatic about it. The happiness though was short lived.

"She never lived past naming our lad, Brian. I was in a mess then. I cared for her, not enough to mourn her for too long, but now I was stuck with a babe that I had no idea how to take care of. Ariana was only a few years younger than me; I scarcely remembered her as a babe. Dear Armando was most considerate about it, and in those years there were considerably more married staff residing at Hogwarts with their families. All were willing to help me; Brian became the staff's child I suppose and between them and the house elves I felt confident enough to take him home with me to Dumbledore Manor come that first summer.

"It was a marvellous time. Yes, there were accidents – numerous accidents. I forgot feeding times, he got a hold of my wand more than once and he developed an interest in tossing things about the place. But I would not change any of it for the world. But then Gellert reared his head again. I had ignored his actions in those initial days, but as time passed by and the situation grew increasingly grave, I knew that I could no longer remain neutral against him; especially when I knew precisely what was motivating him. My skills soon proved invaluable to the cause, and, within a year, many turned to me for assistance and advice regarding how best to anticipate his actions or to counteract his efforts. And I loved it. Aberforth blamed me for introducing Gellert into our lives, and I blamed him as well for Ariana's fate. I was at least partially responsible too, of course, and none of us to this day know exactly whose spell...but all the same, a part of me hated Gellert a little more than I hated myself.

"I let that hatred drive me onwards; it consumed me, and Brian was made to pay the price. I was scarcely around anymore, and when I was, tiredness dragged me to bed or I was too preoccupied with something to pay him scant heed. He never once complained though, although, in hindsight, I clearly saw the sadness in his eyes. I loved him though...I loved my Brian with all my heart, but I never took the time to show it to him.

"It was my elf who intervened. Where she found the bravery to go against her nature I know not. But what I do know is that I returned home one day to a furious elf, reporting that Young Master Brian had cried himself to sleep every night that week because I had scarcely said a word to him. The fact that she, an elf of all things, was standing up to me, finally brought me out of my preoccupation. I raced to Brian's room, and soon enough found the truth in her words. There were tear tracks running down his face, and when he woke up enough to look at me, there was pure misery in his eyes. He was seven then and yet he looked as if he had endured a lifetime of hurt. And it was me who had put it there onto his face.

"I tried my best to right the situation, and for a few weeks I succeeded. But then I reneged, and slowly but surely, Brian once again drifted from my consciousness, and I put him in the background once again. I honestly think that that was the beginning of the end for him. It was one thing to constantly endure my ignorance of him. But to gain a taste of what he had longed for, and then to have it removed from him once again...it was too much for him I believe. Of course, this is based on what my elf told me afterwards. At the time I never even noticed it.

"Brian had learnt to keep his own company and so it never bothered me or the elf when he disappeared for hours at a time. It was never uncommon to find the Manor in a mess as well as he tended to leave his toys wherever he had played with them. It wasn't too odd as well to hear thuds or things breaking while he was playing about, but once again I paid it little heed. The elf could fix anything, and by then, I had accumulated quite a bit of wealth. Whatever he permanently damaged could be easily replaced, so why should it bother me?

"If only I had paid more attention to him; perhaps things may have turned out for the better? As is, he eventually became fascinated with my laboratories. That corridor was strictly off limits to all but me. He disobeyed me though, and soon became fascinated with all that was contained within it. He had just turned eight around that time, and had taken up the habit of mixing together different ingredients. The reactions amused him I believe and so he created concoction after concoction. I still don't know all of the ingredients he threw together that last time. All I do know is that that last concoction he made was lethal. It created a poisonous gas that he remained in for several minutes while he cleared up his mess. It was slow acting though, and it was almost a day later before he manifested any symptoms.

"I was home that day – still working, when he came to me. He told me he was not feeling well, but to me he seemed fine. He was slightly pale yes, and his face was a bit clammy, but I thought that it was the onset of a cold at the very least; since there was no way that he could have contracted Dragon Pox. I ruffled his hair and I sent him on his way after instructing the elf to give him some Pepper Up and chicken soup for lunch. I sent my own son away from me, and at that time he could have been saved still. If I had only paid more attention to him – if I had only taken the time to check him over properly or taken him to a healer, he would have lived. Hell, if I had only came when the elf called for me hours later, when he was drooling a purplish liquid, I could have shoved a Bezoar down his throat.

"But no, I never checked. I had locked myself away in my office, and sound proofed it as well so I would not be disturbed by Brian playing his games. I couldn't hear anything from within that room. It was not until I had made a breakthrough that I left it. And it was not even to go to Brian. I was heading for the floo to return to the Ministry. I was halfway there when I heard it – the house elf wailing. And even then I nearly ignored it at first until I realised that it really was not a normal sound that she was making. It seemed as if she was...mourning. I went in search of her, if only to chastise her for making so much noise.

"She was in Brian's room...from the minute I entered it I knew something was wrong. She was rolling on the floor, banging her head and pulling her ears even as she bawled. I just stood there...uncertain. And finally she noticed me and looked up. I never forgot what she said. 'Master Brian is being dead'. I didn't believe her...I looked toward his canopy bed. And there he was, lying against his pillows...he seemed almost asleep...she had cleaned him up already. I laughed...she could not be telling the truth. He was looking so peaceful...it had to be a trick to get attention for him. He wanted a cuddle and this was the only way the elf could think to get me to pay attention to him. I would indulge them.

"I reached the bed, I touched his cheek. His head moved...his skin was already cooling. But it couldn't be true. He had to be playing a game. I shook him, I shook him roughly. 'Brian, that is enough'. 'Brian this game is not funny, wake up'. Over and over I tried and he would never answer. He...he would never open his eyes and look at me. He wouldn't respond...nothing I did worked. He really was dead and it was my fault. I had failed him...in so many ways. If I hadn't allowed Gellert to preoccupy me, Brian would never have been alone. If I had only taken the time to check on him...to take him for treatment...he would have been alive. I killed my boy..."

Severus felt his throat constrict slightly when the old man's words finally broke off. So that was the truth behind Brian Dumbledore, he mused. Albus seemed incapable of further speech, but he easily put the rest together himself. Brian had been buried the day after his death and that very night, Albus had had his duel with Grindewald defeating him once and for all. What had spurred him to fight him? Anger? Guilt? Or perhaps he had hoped to die at his hands and reunite with his son? Whatever it was that had motivated him, what was true was that Grindewald had been arrested that night and Albus dubbed a hero. The meltdown Filius had told him about had occurred a day or two after that when someone commented on Brian's absence from the celebration. It was the first and last time someone openly questioned him about it. From that moment on, Brian Dumbledore's name had become taboo around the man.

Severus found himself looking at Albus through new eyes, although he was not completely certain about what his own feelings were to the matter or what he should tell him. But what he did know was that he could not sit here blankly while tears coursed down the old man's face. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a handkerchief. He crouched before the man, for he had all but doubled over in the chair. Gently he pressed it to his face, and forced himself to meet the man's gaze when his wet eyes met his.

"I've been pretending," the headmaster whispered in a weak tone. "I've been pretending that you are him."

"You have not been pretending," Severus returned with more conviction than he felt.

"Severus?"

"You are wrong. You have not used us to replace Brian nor are you pretending that we are him. This," he stated, even as he moved the handkerchief to the other cheek, "proves that. You are not failing him now...you are honouring his memory through us. No, hush and listen old man, because I do not know how you could have allowed Minerva to plant this notion in your mind. Even if you blame yourself – and I am not passing judgement on you, do you really think you have failed to honour your son?"

"I don't understand?"

The potions master paused, briefly closing his eyes as he knew now that he would have to tap into his...emotions. It was something he preferred not to do. But then again, the old man had opened up to him like this; he could return the favour.

"The best way you could have honoured Brian's memory Albus is to learn from your mistakes, which you have. Let's start with me and the number of times we've clashed over the years. Do you know why I always fought back against you? It was because you would not give me a hairsbreadth of space. You were always behind me, almost like a shadow. I couldn't sneeze without you inquiring after my health; you always wanted to hear each and every moment of my day. And you're doing the same thing with Potter now. You're giving us the attention that you never gave him. Were you a failure, Albus, I would have been in Azkaban right now, Minerva would still be Deputy and Potter would not be your ward. But none of us are in those positions and it is because you have learnt to separate yourself from your duties.

"You do falter old man, but once you realise it, you try your best to do better. You have improved, Albus, and while it cannot change the fact that Brian is dead, you must admit that you are not the same person you were then. I think that Brian would be very proud of you if he could have seen the man you've become. You've made yourself entirely a nuisance, but I would not have it any other way. You cannot change the past, Albus, but you can learn from it and move on. Stop living in yesteryear and embrace what exists today."

"Perhaps I can direct that advice back your way?" Albus suggested mildly, even as he finally took the handkerchief from him.

Severus gave him a mild glare. "Should wards not follow their guardians?" he countered. "Why don't you show me what I am supposed to do and then I will emulate."

"Touche," Albus acknowledged, giving him a wan smile.

The potions master looked at him for a long moment before rising and reclaiming his seat. A comfortable silence fell between the two of them. Albus seemed lost in his thoughts, and Severus chose to sit there quietly simply observing him. He doubted that this would be the end of the conversation, and so, he summoned the tray he had left downstairs. A few warming charms rendered it consumable, and, taking a tart, he bit into it while waiting for the old man to speak again. It was going to be a long night, he thought idly, but as long as progress was made, he was willing to sit and listen.

*

"But why did he sleep here?"

Potter's question drew Severus from the realm of sleep, and, with a shuddering breath, he opened his eyes groggily, looking about him.

"I suppose he was guarding your presents from the dwarves."

That answered it, he thought, as he sat up, blinking at the brown blanket that dropped down into his lap. He had fallen asleep in Potter's playroom, perhaps during their conversation? But which one precisely? They had talked off and on for hours; Severus even leaving once to refresh the tray so that they could continue. He had drifted off at some point though, and it seemed that the old man had decided to leave him be rather than wake him up and send him to his bed. He would get him back for that, he thought darkly. Unless he had slept here too?

Potter's back was turned to him, so clearly he had not realised that he had awakened. Albus though, was looking at him over the boy's head with a slightly mischievous expression. Severus rolled his eyes slightly as the man's attention reverted to the boy.

"I never told you that tale, Harry?" he said jovially. "Dwarves always return on Yuletide night, attempting to take your most favoured gifts. The only way to prevent it is to keep them near you, and since we forgot to do so, Severus must have decided to guard against that. Isn't he wonderful?"

The potions master restrained his desire to snort at the man's ridiculous story, more so when it became abundantly clear that Potter was buying it. He would have to get the boy a book on wizarding traditions, he decided, setting the blanket aside. It wouldn't be good in the long term if he was so easily convinced. Waiting to be noticed, Severus took the time to observe Albus. It was a vast improvement from the previous day, he decided. There was still a hint of sadness about him, especially when his eyes occasionally lifted toward him, but that was only to be expected, he reasoned. A few hours could not completely rid the man of the guilt that had been plaguing him for decades. However, he hoped that this time the old man would actually work his way through the problems instead of burying them beneath that pleasant demeanour. They would all be better off for it.

"You're awake!"

Severus refocused on the twelve year old, patting his shoulder when he came to him. "That I am, Potter," he replied gruffly. "How could I sleep through your chatter?"

"I tried not to talk too hard," he said. "Breakfast is ready. Headmaster Dumbledore said that we can eat in pyjamas again. You aren't in any though..."

"I'll rectify that shortly," he promised.

"What's that?" Harry asked seconds later, his attention being caught by a glint as sunlight streamed in through the window.

Severus felt his heart skip as he noticed exactly what it was. It was Brian's picture frame, currently placed on the rocking chair where Albus had been seated earlier. Why had the old man left it there! He shot a mildly panicked look to the headmaster, but before Potter could get a good look at it, Albus quickly waved his hand, disillusioning it.

"What's what?" Severus inquired, even as the twelve year old frowned slightly. "Surely you know what a chair is?"

"I do," he replied, with slight bemusement. "I thought I saw something...nevermind."

The potions master felt a twinge of guilt for confusing the boy like this, but he could understand why Albus had chosen to do it. He seriously doubted that the man was in any frame of mind to answer questions regarding Brian. This would have to do for now. Severus could only hope that, with the excitement of Yuletide, Potter had also forgotten about the man's slip of tongue the previous morning. Only time would tell.

"Harry," Albus said, "it seems as if we'll have to break routine again this morning. Can I ask you to start putting out the food for us? I'll join you in a minute."

"Yes sir," he agreed immediately, and within moments, he was out of the room.

"You'll have to tell him eventually you know," Severus commented.

"I know," he sighed, his jovial demeanour slipping slightly, "but not now."

The potions master had no response for that. Indeed, a feeling of awkwardness was slowly overtaking him as more aspects of the night returned to him. He had comforted the old man; had wiped his tears and patted his shoulder in comfort more than once. Merlin, what had he done? At the time the gestures seemed necessary, but, looking back at it now, Severus could barely resist the urge to cringe.

"What is it, my boy?" Albus asked, moving to him.

"Nothing," he snapped, glaring at him.

The headmaster paused at the venom in his tone. To Severus' displeasure, a faintly amused look entered his eyes before Albus lifted his hands in submission. It was clear that he realised what was going on and was allowing him his space. Nevertheless, the fact that he found it amusing irked him a bit. The old man better not tease him about it, he thought darkly, as he straightened himself. He would take great pleasure in using him for target practice if he even attempted to.

"Today will be a strange day," Albus noted, crossing his arms lightly. "I wonder if Harry will mind too much keeping his own company. I fear that, save a constant supply of Pepper Up potions, neither of us will be ideal companions to him. You definitely need more sleep – preferably in your bed – and I have a lot of things that I need to contemplate upon still. If there is one thing you taught me this night, Severus, is that I need to make peace with my past. And I thank you for that."

The potions master shrugged, not meeting his gaze fully. He really wasn't used to receiving gratitude, especially for this type of thing. "You're welcome," he managed though, "and...if you need to...we can talk again."

Albus nodded his head gratefully, and, even though he was not entirely comfortable with the idea of further engaging the man in the issue, Severus knew that he had to do it. After all, it would be hypocritical of him to help the man overcome his past without doing the same for himself.

"I may take you up on that," he warned.

"You may."

"I should go meet, Harry," Albus stated, looking to the door.

"And I need a shower."

"So that is what I've been smelling," Albus quipped.

Severus snorted at the attempt at humour. "I'll let that one pass."

"Can't come up with a suitable response? The sky must be green."

"Keep talking, old man," he grumbled, bypassing him.

"I shall," he declared, following him from the room. "You do so enjoy the sound of my voice."

"And I'll endeavour to listen to it more at breakfast," he returned. "So for now, go to Potter, hmm? I'll be down shortly."

"Okay, I will."


	41. Interlude 2

Despite her contemplative mood, Minerva managed to whisper soothing words to her grandson as she patted his back firmly, trying to coax a next burp from him. Although she had been far from pleased when her daughter had announced her pregnancy, her love for the babe was assured. As is, she was featured prominently in his life since his mother was still confined to her bed and his father worked long hours. The witch pressed her lips together at the thought of her son-in-law. She had never approved of him but had never overtly made that fact known. Despite her disapproval, her daughter was happy, and on that basis alone she had tried to temper her reactions around him. Living with them was a trial for her in that regard, but now, months later, it was considerably easier, especially now that she had the baby to distract her.

She cooed to him when he was finally burped, tickling his stomach for long moments after she placed him back into his cradle. Once he was asleep though, she allowed herself to focus once again on her own thoughts, and the letter she had been penning before he had woken up for his feeding. Sitting down, she took it up, her eyes quickly reading over what had been written so far. A sigh escaped her lips as she dropped it once again. The letter was to Albus, although, the more she wrote, the more uncertain she became as to if she would actually send it to him. The necessity of it was debatable, especially since they had had that long conversation over Christmas. Nevertheless, she was not certain if she had conveyed her feelings to him clearly enough. However, she vividly recalled the man's increasing distress while they had spoken, and she knew that she had placed him in an uncomfortable position. She still believed that she had been right in speaking to him about it, although she allowed that she had handled the situation with Potter badly.

Her mouth crinkled at the thought of him. Lily and James' boy – a child she had cradled for long moments on that dreadful night, and whose fate she had worried over. She would never have thought that she would have anything but fond thoughts of the boy, but from the moment he had entered Hogwarts, Minerva had had her reservations about him. She honestly could not decide whether it was the fault of his upbringing or if he truly was that different from his parents, but what she did know was that she was not proud of the person he had grown up to be. It was not that she disliked him, far from that. In his first year, even as she had lamented his dismal spell work, she had felt a hint of pride at the conciseness of his essays. There had been little else to praise him about though and so, he became just another student to her, wizarding hero put aside.

But then the guardians died and Albus decided to adopt him. She should have protested then - actually, she should have made a greater fuss the moment he had decided to grant the then first year privileges. Even before he had taken him in, Albus had had the boy spending at least a night a week with him, or was forever whisking him off on weekends for one thing or another. She had held her peace though, for at the time she had believed that he was educating the boy on his place in the wizarding world. That was proven false one day when, dropping off a report for him, she had found the pair reading a children's book of all things. Still she had said nothing and, by the time Albus deemed it necessary to inform her about the fact that he had made Potter his ward, it was already too late to stop him.

It was not that she did not believe that Potter deserved a home. Indeed, she highly suspected that, reservations aside, she would have taken him in willingly had she been asked to. But Albus had asked no one, and with his numerous influences, he had shortened the guardianship process considerably so that Potter was immediately placed in his care. The fact that he had done so did not truly bother her, for the man rarely took advantage of his positions. For him to actually do so spoke of his immense desire to have the boy, and it was something that should have made her happy. She had never approved of Potter being placed with the muggles, perhaps now he would actually have a caretaker who could train him how to act like a proper person. The constant stuttering and cringing behaviour annoyed her immensely; his behaviour was suitable for a Hufflepuff, and an extremely timid one at that. Such behaviour had no place in the House of Gryffindor. Albus would surely straighten him out in that regard.

And, she supposed, he had. She had to admit that Potter had improved during his time in Albus' care, and, she had been curious to see how he would behave in her classroom now that he had a better grasp of his magic. But then he had made that comment about Albus, covertly undermining her authority. It was then that she had first dwelled upon the negative aspect of his guardianship. Although the headmaster would do him a world of good, it was abundantly clear to her that Snape had been influencing the boy as well. The mere thought of the man had her clenching her fists slightly.

From the start she had protested Albus' decision.

Why should he risk his reputation, and waste his time rehabilitating a fallen Slytherin? Severus Snape had been nothing but trouble from the start of his Hogwarts career. If the headmaster wanted to assist someone, why not someone who had lost love ones in the struggle? Instead, he had singled out a person that had aided Voldemort in his efforts, affording him privileges that other people could never even dream of receiving. And if taking him in was not enough, he had proceeded to bring him into Hogwarts, and within a few months had made him the sole supplier of the Infirmary as well as the Head of Slytherin. What had possessed him to do so? Did he want to corrupt a next generation of students?

It had taken her a while, weeks actually, in which she had secretly monitored the relationship between the two men for signs that Albus was being taken advantage of. And she had found many; however, collectively there was none damning enough to launch an official appeal against the potions master's continued stay in the castle. It was clear that the headmaster as willingly giving way to whatever Snape asked of him. There was no legal case to be made against simple bad judgement. Nevertheless, while her colleagues and the officials who occasionally dropped by to check on Snape's presence all marvelled at his improvement, Minerva was not fooled. He was a Slytherin after all; he could not be trusted. For all she knew, his reformed character was just a carefully crafted charade that allowed him to escape proper punishment for his crimes.

More than that, he was going to emerge pristine at the end of it all. Not only would he appear completely rehabilitated, he would also, after so many years, be firmly entrenched in Albus' good wills. Minerva had gone cold the first time Albus had referred to the potions master as his son. A marked look of distaste had crossed Snape's features, but she knew better than to believe it genuine. Undoubtedly, the man had been reflecting on how long he would have to act the part until he successfully snared that role in Albus' life. After that, he would have full access to his fortune. Although the Dumbledores were an old family, they had never maintained a constant social and financial standing. At one point they had been a premier family, but with time they had slowly dwindled down in standing until they had all but become a laughing stock to the community. Under Albus, the name had regained and surpassed its previous prestige, and, given the fact that Albus viewed him as family and publicly acknowledged that fact, it was clear that Severus was setting himself up to take advantage of it.

And now Albus had taken in Potter as well, and in that moment in her classroom, when the boy had declared his guardian's knowledge superior to hers, she had realised that Snape was breeding Potter to be the same way. All her residual fondness for him had faded in that moment, and it was all she could do to not treat him with abject disdain. She had resumed her previously habits then, noting the ways in which Potter too was taking advantage of her long time friend. He abused the privileges that Albus had afforded him, sometimes spending only a night in the dormitory at most. Her complaints were easily dismissed. A classmate had bullied him; he had fallen asleep on a visit anyway. They were excuses that someone else would have easily accepted, but not her.

While Pomona and Filius had reacted indulgently to her complaints, expressing pleasure that Albus seemed now to be happier than before, she had looked beyond that. Potter, with Severus' assistance, was playing upon the man's past, taking full advantage of it for their own benefits. She did not blame Potter out rightly though; his parents were good people, and she knew that he was simply going along with what Severus was doing. There was no way to openly change that fact though, so she could only bear with it and hope that her friend would see the truth. She had lost her temper that fateful day that had led to her leaving Hogwarts, but truly, she mostly regretted not telling Albus the truth at that moment. He had called them his family, his boys, his sons; did he not see that Severus' plan had worked? Both of them had now firmly entrenched themselves into the man's good graces, so much so that she was certain that Albus did not see them for who they were, but rather as substitutes for Brian.

He had never grieved properly for him and she regretted that she did not force him to do so. But truly, there had never been time for an intervention even if she had wanted it. Barely two days after Brian's death, the man had been elevated to the top ranks of the Ministry, and soon after that had joined the ICW. Added to her own efforts to assist in the restoration of the society to its former state, she had taken at face value the man's assurances that he was fine, and dealing adequately with it all. It was not until he had taken in Severus years later, that she realised that those words had not been the whole truth.

All of these things were written in the letter. However, the more she thought about it, the more uncertain she became. Should she really send it to him? Her talk with Albus had been relieving to her; finally she had been given the opportunity to voice the opinions she had been suppressing for years. While she had not openly condemned Severus, she had still made her disapproval of it though. To compound it by also voicing her thoughts regarding his motive would have been useless. Snape was so firmly entrenched into Albus' life that she would certainly have found herself at the end of the man's ire for stating it. Regardless, she had told him of her concerns for him; his insecurities. The fact that he had never fully dealt with Brian's death was brought up. As gently as possible, she had pointed out that he had taken in two males into his life as blatant substitutes for him. Albus had looked far older than his age by the time she had stopped, and, in a strangled tone, he had asked her why she had never stated these things before. She had responded by telling him that people were afraid of speaking about Brian for fear of upsetting him.

She had ended the call soon after. The man's expression made it clear that he had a lot to think about and she would give him the opportunity to do so. However, she had expected him to contact her eventually; he always turned to her for guidance, or at least a friendly ear. But he did not call and so, she had started the letter. What had begun as a simple note had evolved into a cathartic experience for her. And that was exactly why, she decided, that it would not be sent. Albus' silence alone proved that Snape had him completely in his grasp, so much so that he did not turn to her as he usually did. If that were the case, there was nothing she could do or say that would affect any change. Indeed, she may even find herself in a worse position with her friend than before. Although the letter would help further clear her conscious, it was meaningless if Snape twisted her words around for his own purposes. The potions master was slowly replacing her as Albus' most trusted person. His position as his Deputy confirmed that.

Out of all the people Albus could have chosen to replace her with, he had chosen him. Snape now had even more access to Albus, and undoubtedly, his influence over the headmaster had concordantly increased. More than that, without her there to protest, she was certain that Potter was now flaunting more school rules with the encouragement of Snape. And even if he was not, he was certainly learning how to take advantage of the kindness Albus offered, all because of Snape. But would she even be around to see the truth of her suppositions?

She was not certain, for, at the moment, she had no idea if she even wanted to return to Hogwarts. Excluding the humiliation that returning would bring, especially if Albus refused to reinstate her to her former positions, there was her personal relationships to think of. Could she bear functioning at the institution while witnessing the demise of her beloved friend? He would not take kindly to any intervention and she doubted that she could maintain her silence should she go back. And there was the fact that she was glad to be back around her family. It had spoilt her, she supposed, but she had grown accustomed to being around them once again. Caring for her youngest grandson; being more than a face in a fireplace to the older ones – it was something she had grown to love. She was not certain that she could stand locking herself away at Hogwarts for months on end once again.

Merlin alone knew she would not want for money should she resign. While she was far from rich, living in a boarding school for so long had left her with minimal expenses. Her savings compounded by the income she was still receiving from royalties on her books meant that she had more than enough to live comfortably for the rest of her days. And if boredom became an issue, she could simply take up tutoring.

Yes, leaving Hogwarts was fast becoming her favoured option. She loved Hogwarts, she truly did, and she loved most of the people residing in it. However, as it was, she believed that it was best that she recluse herself from it before it completely lost its charm to her. She would miss being around Albus, but she could not watch his world fall apart any longer. Perhaps, with her absence, he would finally see the truth. And, even if he never did, at least she would not have to watch him become a puppet to the whims of Snape and Potter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had never meant for Minerva to become an 'irredeemable' character, however, in reality, there are persons who are so grounded in their own personal convictions that they are never able to look past them and see the reality of the situation. She is one such person. Hence her thoughts will contradict some of the previous chapters, but, given that she is judging this solely based on her own beliefs, it is inevitable.


	42. Chapter 42

"Don't worry, Harry," Professor Sinistra said with a smile, while gently pushing a tray bearing biscuits toward him. "I'll be sure to deliver you back to Professor Snape on time. I would end up in a caldron otherwise."

Harry chuckled at his head of house's words as he selected a vanilla biscuit and took a bite. There was a few more days left before the school term resumed, but he was in Hogwarts due to his guardians having to work. Rather than remaining with them that morning, he had decided to explore the castle once again, while promising to return to the office by lunch time so that he and the potions master could make a next trip to Hogsmeade. They had promised to return to visit after all, and, as the headmaster had cheerfully pointed out, Rosmerta really would have no qualms about storming into the school to ensure that Severus kept that promise. Although he had been mostly ambling about aimlessly, Harry had hoped to locate Sir Nicholas, who had never quite finished his story regarding his time in France.

Nevertheless, he had not found the ghost, but rather had came across the Professor who was carrying several things to her office. He had immediately offered to assist her, chuckling slightly at the woman's cheerful explanation that Charms had never been a strong point of hers, hence she had had to resort to physically carrying the things instead of simply levitating them. At Harry's inquiry as to why she had not sought out the assistance of an elf, the woman had looked perplexed for a moment before breaking out into rueful laughter.

After the things had been dropped off at her office, she had invited him to stay, citing that, since she was staying on as his head of house anyway, she might as well conduct her first meeting for the term with him immediately. Harry had agreed easily, since the first one with her had gone fine, and frankly, the biscuits she always offered during her meetings were particularly tasty.

Once they had both consumed a biscuit, and the woman had located his parchment file, she started speaking.

"How do you feel about your performance this past term?"

"I think I did good," Harry beamed, "I got all Os and Es this time!"

"That you did," she confirmed. "It's nice to see how much you've improved. I'd like you to work a bit more on your History of Magic and Potions though. Let's see if we can bring those up to Os as well hmm?"

"I don't really like History," Harry admitted bashfully, "but I'll try. Professor Snape wants an O this term too, or else he'll feed me to the goblins."

"And I'm sure you do not want that to happen," she chuckled. "I have nothing but good comments from your professors regarding your behaviour in class, although Professor Flitwick wishes that you'd be a little more vocal in class. I agree with that. You don't answer unless directly called upon, even if you know the answer. That's something I want you to work at okay?"

"O-okay," Harry agreed reluctantly, trying to envision himself acting like Hermione. The witch almost always had a hand up in the air, ready to ask or answer a question. He really did not think he could manage that though...but if the Professor wanted him to try, he supposed he could give it a shot.

"Good. Now, I suppose I should give you your subject choices now."

"Subject choices?" he repeated blankly.

"Have you forgotten?" she asked. "You have to choose at least two more subjects to study in your third year."

"Right," he said with a sheepish grin, "I forgot. Erm...what are they again?"

The woman laughed before responding. "You can choose from among Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Divinitation, Care of the Magical Creatures and Muggle Studies. Your choices will be based on several things. Do you have any idea what you want to do when you grow up?"

Harry shook his head slowly at this. He recalled once Hermione rambling about how she had planned to be a dentist in primary school, but he had never given any thought to this.

"That's quite all right," she reassured him. "I wasn't really expecting you to have an answer at your age. You should talk to your guardians about the subjects, and even to a few of the older students. That's what I did when I was your age, and it really helped. And, of course, you can always talk to be about it."

"How many do I have to do?" he asked.

"At least two," she repeated. "Most students choose two or three, although we've had a few over the years who've done four or even all five of them."

"Wow," he gaped.

"There are cases as well where some students choose not to attend classes for a subject but still take the OWL examination for it."

"How is that possible?"

"It's usually done by muggleborns or half-blood students who've spent a lot of time in the Muggle world. You grew up in the muggle world I believe; you may want to consider that."

"I guess..." he allowed, although he did not dwell too long on the matter. His experience with the muggle world had been far from pleasant. Vaguely, he wondered if Neville would do the subject. It would interest him, he supposed, given the questions he asked them about it. And knowing Hermione, she would want to take it just to see what would be taught. Maybe they could do it together?

"You have time to decide," she reassured him. "I do not need to know your choices until the end of the second term. I'll give you the list now though, so you'll have something to look at."

"Thank you," he said, accepting it. He looked at it for a moment before pocketing it.

The woman took another biscuit from the tray, waving her hand to indicate that he should do the same. "There's one more thing I want to speak to you about. I'm a bit concerned about the way you interact with your year mates."

The woman's statement made Harry pause, and it was with great difficulty that he finished swallowing the last bit of his biscuit. "W-what do you mean," he asked hesitantly. "I have friends now."

Professor Sinistra smiled kindly at him. "I know you do; I'm very glad given how much you stayed by yourself in your first year. I am worried though...not only about you particularly, but rather your entire year."

"Why?"

"You've formed yourselves into distinct groups, and while that is natural to a certain extent, what is not is the fact that you are barely civil to each other. I have observed you for a while now and it is apparent that there is little camaraderie among you as a group, and I would like that to change. I've said before that I expect the Gryffindor house to be a family, but that is not possible if you cannot get along with each other."

Harry shifted uncomfortably at her words, although a part of him acknowledged the truth of it. The seconds years really had segregated themselves away from each other, and, as far as possible, they never worked together or spoke to each other really, unless the situation demanded it. Since there were usually an odd number of students in their classes anyway, he, Neville and Hermione often worked as a trio when needed, leaving everyone else to pair up with each other. Now that he thought about it, recently Professor Sinistra had taken to assigning them partners during practical work, forcing them to interact with each other, and with the Hufflepuffs. Working with them wasn't too bad, but that one time he had been assigned to Lavender had been just awful.

"I like my friends," Harry murmured morosely, looking down into his lap.

"I'm not saying that you have to befriend them," she stated, "I just want you to be on good terms with them."

"Will you talk to them too? I don't think I can just..."

"I understand, and yes, I will be talking to all of you individually regarding this. I hope to see some improvement in this or else I'll be forced to take greater actions. I'm not trying to meddle in your personal lives, but it's important that you learn to function with other people, even if you do not necessarily like them. Consider it a life lesson."

"Yes ma'am."

"Come now," she bid, reaching across to tweak his ear lightly. "Don't look so pensive! You'll make me feel as if I've punished you."

The woman's action brought a small smile to his face and Harry nodded, making a marked effort to cheer up.

"Much better! Take a next biscuit, you haven't tried these raison ones yet. They're good aren't they? Now, I don't have anything else to talk to you about, and it's nearing lunch. Where do you have to meet Professor Snape?"

"At the Entrance Hall. We're going to Madam Rosmerta's for lunch."

"How nice. Then take a few biscuits to carry with you. It's a long walk to there after all," she said with a wink.

He complied, before rising. "Have a good day, Professor."

"You too, Harry," she returned, "and don't forget what we talked about."

"I won't."

"I have biscuits," Harry said, offering them to the potions master a few minutes later.

"So that is why there are crumbs around your mouth."

"There are not!" Harry protested, before wiping his hand across it.

The potions master stopped him with a slight scowl, pressing a handkerchief into his hand. "I thought I told you to always carry one on you."

"Sorry," he apologised before holding up the biscuits to him again. "Have one?"

"Where did you get these?" he asked, accepting one, "and just how many have you eaten? I hope you haven't ruined your lunch."

"Only a few," he defended. "I got them from Professor Sinistra. I was with her in her office."

Severus started walking out of the castle, and Harry fell into step beside him, giving him a next biscuit before taking a bite out of the one left. "Doing what?"

"I was helping her carry some things and then we had a meeting about school and things."

Harry was unable to keep an edge of despondency from his tone that the man easily caught. "We'll talk more about it over lunch. Although, don't expect me to get you a dessert. You've had too many sweets for the day as if."

"Okay," Harry agreed, although, if this visit was anything like the last one, he would be plied with sweets from Madam Rosmerta despite what the potions master said.

The man seemed to glean his thoughts, for he huffed slightly before pulling him into his side as they continued walking.

*

"You're getting along in age, my friend," Albus observed, running his hand along Fawkes' head.

The changes were slight at best, but after so many years together, it was fairly easy for Albus to discern the initial signs of declining health in his familiar. Fawkes' feathers no longer retained their usual vibrancy and although he still flew around and played with Harry with his usual vigour, once he was not present, the phoenix tended to perch himself somewhere comfortably and sleep.

Fawkes' response was an annoyed ruffle of his feathers before he flew off his perch, hovering pointedly over the armchair near the fireplace. Chuckling at his clear irritation, Albus nevertheless heeded the unspoken demand, but paused to grab a few of Fawkes' favourite treats before settling into the seat, smiling when the phoenix's comfortable weight settled in his lap.

Where are they? Fawkes asked, his voice softly reverberating in Albus' mind.

The headmaster recalled the first time Fawkes had spoken to him thus. It had been a few days after Fawkes had returned to him. He had grown accustomed to the jumbled images the phoenix directed his way, and so, it had been rather shocking when, in the midst of experimenting, a rather disgruntled voice echoed in his mind, demanding that he desist from that insipid noise that was keeping him from sleeping. In addition to overturning the tray of vials he had had before him, Albus had drawn his wand, prepared to defend himself against an intruder before his eyes had landed on an obviously annoyed Fawkes.

The transition from images to actual speech had taken him a while to grow accustomed to, but now it was a comfortable presence in his mind.

"Weren't you listening? Severus said that he'd take Harry to Rosmerta's for lunch."

I never listen when Humbug speaks...Is he bringing me back something?

Albus laughed at that, once again marvelling at the odd relationship between his familiar and his eldest. It was clear that the pair were fond of each other, although they went out of their way to hide that fact. He couldn't even remember what had started the 'war' between them anymore, but it was one of the bright spots in his day. Although, if Severus ever realised the repertoire of names Fawkes had for him...his phoenix might actually find himself on the dinner table brazed in Severus' favourite sauce.

"Harry will definitely bring you back a spot of cake...and some of Rosmerta's delightful pies I should think."

Such a devoted hatchling. Why can't Gloomsday be so agreeable? I would stop hiding his hair ties if he did.

"So it is you!"

Yes.

"You can at least pretend to be repentant you know," Albus huffed, holding up another treat to him.

I learnt that from you.

"But I do it to get his attention."

And that makes your actions more valid than mine?

Albus wisely remained silent, before changing the topic altogether. "The new year is shaping up quite nicely thus far," he remarked. "I've finally found a replacement Professor to take over Transfigurations for the fourth and sixth years."

Why not all the upper years? It would save you time.

"It would," he agreed, "but I don't want them to have to adjust to a new professor, especially with their examinations so near."

Is that the only reason?

"You are as shrewd as ever my friend. I never realised how much I missed teaching until I took over the classes again. I don't want to stop."

I thought so.

"Filius is arranging a get-together for all of the students tomorrow. He wants Harry to attend but I'm not certain if that's a good idea."

He cannot hide forever.

"I know that, but neither Severus nor I can remain for the entire time, and even so, it would be odd for him to stay only with us for an entire afternoon."

Does it matter if people know that he is yours now?

"It matters not to me," Albus said carefully, "and a few people at the Ministry and Wizengamont already know of it. But I must consider Harry in all this. He's finally had a good term and I do not want that ruined by speculations as to why I am now his guardian. It will not be fair not to send him though...although, will he want to?"

I can go with him.

"You're always with him," Albus noted. "Really, I'm surprised no one has guessed already."

That's not my problem.

Albus glared at the phoenix, but his response was delayed by the activation of the portrait leading to his personal quarters. Smiling, he shifted Fawkes to his shoulder moments before Harry stepped into the living quarters, making a beeline toward him.

There's my hatchling! Fawkes said excitedly. What did you bring me?

Albus shot a speculative look at Harry as he neared him; however, he saw no signs that the twelve year old had actually 'heard' his familiar's words. It confirmed the tentative hypothesis he had formed a few weeks ago. Although Fawkes would one day be Harry's, it was clear that they did not have the full connection between them that he and the phoenix shared. Whether it was something that would develop with time or a conscious effort on Fawkes' part not to fully join with Harry was beyond him, and the magical creature refused to answer.

In some regards, Fawkes was still careful about his level of interactions with Harry. Although the phoenix had never explicitly stated it, Albus was certain that Fawkes still bore a shadow of remorse for his actions regarding his previous partner. After all, Fawkes had been considerably less mature then, and the thrill of finding his next partner had overcome him. Thus, despite his companion's failing health, the phoenix had continuously sought him out for investigation, neglecting his partner in the process during his greatest time of need. It seemed that the bird was determined not to be torn between two persons again and so was careful to spend copious amounts of time with Albus even though the headmaster truly did not mind the times he went off with Harry. It was something that Fawkes had yet to fully accept though.

Albus forced himself out of his thoughts as Harry squeezed into the chair beside him. Noting with pleasure the tight fit, the headmaster wordless enlarged to better accommodate them. Harry barely noticed, for he was removing the outer wrapping of a box before holding it up to him.

Cake?

"There's a brownie for Fawkes and a piece of pumpkin pie for you, sir."

Even better!

"Thank you Harry," Albus said, before placing said sweet on the side table.

Fawkes hopped onto it immediately, and, in fear of laughing, Albus tuned out the phoenix's voice for a bit before conjuring a plate to place his own piece. Looking at the large size of it, he started breaking it into smaller pieces, sampling a bit before feeding Harry a piece.

"Where is Severus?" he asked.

"I think he's hiding."

"Oh?"

"You'll tease him," he elaborated, before swiping a bit of the cream topping and licking it with obvious relish. "His face is all red."

"Tell me more," Albus requested, intrigued.

"I don't understand much," Harry shrugged, "adults are weird."

"You're speaking to an adult you know," he teased, poking his side.

Harry squirmed away from the touch with a chuckle. "Professor Snape was sad I think. He wanted to see someone...but I don't think they were there. Professor Flitwick was though and he ate with us."

"How did Rosmerta like your appearance?" he asked, recalling her previous request.

Harry flushed slightly before snagging a next bit of the pie. "She says I'm cute...and I look like my parents!"

"I've told you that many times," Albus pointed out before telling himself to remember to check on Hagrid's progress regarding the album for Harry. It was originally meant as a Christmas gift for him – a collection of pictures of his parents – but, given the overwhelming feedback, Hagrid had decided to wait until he received all of the pictures and other items before giving it to him. "But tell me, what was weird?"

"Speak and suffer forever," came a terse comment from the door.

Mr. Dark and Gloomy is back, Fawkes said unnecessarily. And he didn't bring me any cake...

"Fawkes!" Albus said mentally, knowing that it would reach him regardless.

It's true though, he grumbled, before resuming consuming his treat.

"How nice of you to join us," the headmaster beamed. "Harry was just telling me..."

"That he no longer requires his tongue? I have at least a dozen potion bases ready that could use that particular appendage."

Harry gave a panicked squeak from beside him before clamping a hand over his mouth.

"Smart boy," Severus smirked.

"Don't let Severus intimidate you, Harry," the headmaster bid, giving the man a light glare. "Tell me."

"Well...Madame Rosmerta..."

"Glass jar, Potter," the potions master said smoothly, leaning against the door frame. "I'll put it on my desk so you can watch it and remember what your tongue looks like."

"Severus!"

"I'm tired," Harry declared, squirming off the chair before the headmaster could stop him. "Come with me, Fawkes, I want to sleep for an hour...or five" he added, glancing at the potions master.

But I want to hear this, he grumbled, even as he followed him. You will tell me everything later, Albus.

"Of course."

Once Harry's door was safely closed, the old man refocused on Severus. "Will you sit down?" he bid, "and I expect you to make it up to Harry later. Scaring him like you did...the poor boy probably didn't realise that you were joking!"

"I was not joking," he deadpanned, not moving in the least. "I came to tell you that I'll be spending the night in my own quarters. It's a good thing that I came actually...I should have made Potter promise not to tell."

"Tell me what?"

"It's nothing," Severus said, turning to leave. "Let me go, old man," he added a moment later when he felt an invisible force stilling his movement.

"Not until I know what's going on." Smirking at him, Albus relaxed further into the chair, chuckling at Severus' failed attempts to undo the spell. After a minute passed, he decided to up the stakes a bit, saying, "Harry mentioned that Filius was there. Perhaps I should ask him in-"

"Choke on a lemon drop," he growled.

"That's hardly nice."

"Choke on a lemon drop please," Severus amended, trying another counter spell.

When that failed, the potions master mentally sighed, knowing that there was no way out of this situation for him save telling the old man about the embarrassing circumstances of that afternoon. Well, it was not strictly embarrassing. Indeed, he was more humiliated by the fact that Rosmerta and even Filius found it necessary to...no, he would not even think about that!

"Ah, so Rosmerta wants you to date her niece."

"Stay out of my mind!" Severus yelled, his face darkening.

"You're broadcasting your thoughts rather loudly," he replied mildly, before releasing the spell.

After all, it was not as if the potions master would run now that he had reached the crux of the issue. Indeed, Severus' shoulders slumped slightly before he took a seat across from the old man, glaring at him to shield his feelings.

"I think that's a marvellous idea," Albus continued, "and I'm sure that Rosmerta's niece is a wonderful woman. I might even have to collude with her on this."

"You will do no such thing!" Severus said, although the headmaster ignored his words completely.

"Is this the youngest niece? It must be since she told me about the healer one's marriage the last time I saw her."

"She just completed her mastery and is taking a few months off before getting a job."

Albus shot him a sly look. "You already know so much about her?"

"How could I not? Rosmerta spoke of nothing but her."

"It'll be nice to have a woman in the house..."

"What?"

"This is what Harry must have meant by weird. I've never seen you this red."

"I'm going!" Severus declared. "I'll not listen to another word of this."

"Fine," the headmaster said with a dismissive wave. "I'll just invite Filius to tea and discuss this further with him."

"Like hell you will!"

"Language."

You're being rather loud, Fawkes said, flashing into the room. The hatchling won't be able to sleep if you don't hush.

"He didn't just go to get away from Severus?"

Well...yes. But he really is tired, so will you and Gloomsday keep it down?

"Let's take this into the office," Albus said, refocusing on the glowering potions master. "Wake Harry in an hour Fawkes or else he'll never get to sleep tonight."

I will.

"Come on you," he said, clasping Severus' shoulder. "Now tell me all about my future daughter. What's her name?"

"Old man!"

"Old man is a rather odd name for a girl."

"One of these days, Albus," Severus warned, pulling the door shut behind them, "I will hex you."

"Says the man who can't even cancel my charm...Severus, stay away from my lemon drops! I mean it...SEVERUS!"

*

"I forgot to show this to you, sir," Harry said a few hours later, emerging from his bedroom dressed in his pyjamas.

"Oh? What is this?"

"I told Professor Snape about it earlier," he explained, while reclaiming his former seat by the man's side. "It's a list of the third year choices I have to choose from. I had a meeting with Professor Sinistra."

"Severus did mention that to me," Albus said, opening the parchment and pretending to diligently analyse what was written on it. After all, given his prolonged tenure at the school, the man was well aware of all that was on the parchment. However, knowing that Harry expected him to peruse it, he decided to humour him, going so far as to ask him on what he believed each subject entailed.

"I've got a long time to decide," Harry stated eventually, drawing his feet up under him so that he could recline more fully against the old wizard's body. "But I can't help but think about it now."

"You should," Albus confirmed, running his fingers idly through his still damp hair as he allowed the parchment to fall into his lap. "It's a big decision for you to make."

"You mean you won't help?" Harry said with a hint of alarm, raising wide eyes to look up at him.

"Of course I will, child. But at the end of the day you will have to decide, as it's you who'll be studying the subjects."

"But I don't know much about them..."

"Then we will rectify that. I'll ask you not to listen only to your peers' advice regarding the issue. All subjects have their strengths and weaknesses after all."

"All right, sir."

"What are we discussing?" Severus asked, emerging from his own bedroom.

"We're discussing Harry's options for his third year," Albus explained.

"What subjects did you do, sir?" he asked curiously.

"I started with Ancient Runes, Arithmacy and Care of the Magical Creatures," he responded after scratching his chin thoughtfully. "I dropped the last by the second week though. I preferred dealing with pickled creatures..."

"Eww."

"Mature much?" he said, glaring at the headmaster who was even now wrinkling his nose at him much to Harry's amusement.

"And you, sir?"

"I did all of the electives Hogwarts offered until OWL level," he admitted. "All intrigued me and with my grades it was not too difficult to get permission to do so."

"You must be really smart then," Harry said with awe.

"No more than the next person," Albus said dismissively. "I'll ask the Professors to hold some mock-classes with the third years in the upcoming term. It should help you get a better feel for the subjects."

"That sounds good." Harry reached across him to take up the parchment, opening it again. "I wonder what Divination will be like. I've never seen a crystal ball bef-sir!" he ended with a gasp as the potions master reached over to take the parchment from him.

"That is one subject that you will not pursue," he said darkly.

"B-but why?" Harry asked in confusion, noting the real menace in the man's words as he summoned a quill to him. He could only look on with bemusement as the man almost viciously crossed it off the list before returning it to him.

"You will not take it," he repeated, pinning him with a glare. "The entire subject should be banned. Persons have no right meddling with the future..."

The potions master rose abruptly, heading for the door. Although he was unused to this rather eccentric behaviour from him, Harry felt no real fear from him. Indeed, he was just curious as to why the man was acting this way.

"I'll fetch a tea tray," he announced, hand on the door handle, "and after that, it's bed for you, Potter. It's been a long day and with that event Filius has planned, you need your rest."

"Yes, sir," Harry agreed. Once the door closed, he turned to his guardian, asking, "Did I say something wrong?"

"Of course not. Severus just is not...fond of the subject."

"Oh," was all he could think to say. He could not help but wonder what exactly would cause the man to dislike a subject that much. Maybe he had had a bad teacher? "Let's cheer him up," he suggested.

"A marvellous idea! Why don't you go fetch one of your board games hmm? I'm sure we can convince him to play at least one round before bedtime."

"Okay!" he agreed enthusiastically. Those games never failed to bring that half-smile to Professor Snape's lips. He was certain that it would return him to his previous good cheer.

While Harry went to select a game, Albus ventured into his office to find Severus staring absentmindedly into the fireplace.

"What's wrong?" he asked seriously, careful to close the door fully behind him.

"I didn't scare Potter too badly did I?"

"He's come a long way," he said. "He isn't perturbed in the least; he's going to cheer you up actually."

"Silly child," Severus sighed, a smile playing at his lips. He knew he should not have lost control of himself like that but the thought of Lily's boy pursuing Divination had disturbed him too much. "We've got no right meddling with the future," he said unwittingly.

"Mitsy's bringing tea," Albus' else announced, popping into the room.

Grateful for the distraction, Severus took the tray from her.

"Mitsy," Albus said before she departed, "would you mind preparing a next tray for us in about an hour? One for just Severus and I?"

"Mitsy will," she confirmed.

"Whatever for?" Severus said crossly.

Albus did not answer immediately; instead he gave him a level look before moving past him to take the tray. "I never questioned your disdain for the art before," he stated cryptically as he bypassed him, "but this has made it clear to me that I am not the only one who's allowing past actions to overshadow the present. After all, I can only think of one thing to spark such a reaction from you."

Severus' stiffened at the knowing glance the older wizard shot him, however, before he could even fathom a response, Albus opened the door, effectively ending the conversation. Severus knew that it was only a temporary closure though. After all, the old coot was probably looking forward to returning the favour after the events of Christmas night. Nevertheless, it was not something that Severus was looking forward to in the least, but given Albus' persistent nature, he knew that he would not be able to get out of it.


	43. Chapter 43

"But I'm not sleepy any more," Harry argued softly, his lip protruding slightly as he looked at the phoenix currently perched on his legs.

It was a few minutes to midnight now, yet, after barely three hours sleep, he had woken up. Since then he had been trying unsuccessfully to coax Fawkes into letting him get out of bed and either find something amusing to do, or seek out his guardians. After all, the lights in the general living area was on, which meant that at least one of them was still up. A flutter of images ran through his mind. He nodded absentmindedly, still staring toward the door. Yes he knew he should be asleep, but even Fawkes had admitted that it was his fault for allowing Harry to oversleep that afternoon and thus it was understandable why he was no longer tired. Harry figured that Fawkes didn't want him to go out primarily because it might earn him a scold from the headmaster, and, no matter how he tried to reassure him that the man would not do so, the phoenix would not budge.

"Then let me get out of bed," he suggested, trying to shake him off his legs. "I can finish write my letters...although, I wonder when Hedwig will be back?"

It was not until he had received his last letter for Hedwig on Boxing Day that Harry finally understood why his owl tended to occasionally disappear for days at a time. She went to Hermione during those periods, and would remain until the witch had something for it to deliver. Harry had marvelled at his pet's intelligence then; truthfully, it was only when Hermione had thanked him for 'sharing' his owl with her that it occurred to him that Hedwig was the witch's only way of communication with her friends. Neville at least had access to his grandmother's owl, but Hermione had yet to convince her parents to get her one. Mischievously Harry had suggested that she ask Hagrid to get her one and simply carry it home with her, and, to his surprise, in her next letter to him, she indicated that she was seriously considering it. It showed how much she really wanted one, he supposed, if she was willing to do such a thing.

"I can't wait for them to get back," he said softly, scratching the phoenix's head, "I miss them. Letters are good, but I wish there was a way to talk to them immediately. Like a telephone maybe? This world is different in that way Fawkes. I don't really mind but still...why has no one ever thought of it? Who me?" Harry gasped a few seconds later as an image of himself by a desk filled with books entered his mind. "I can't do that Fawkes...at least I think I can't."

The phoenix nipped his finger in a way that clearly conveyed his disagreement, but made no other move. "Hermione might be able to, she's wicked smart...I'm not smart Fawkes...Oww!" he protested, after receiving a second, harder nip. He clamped a hand over his mouth immediately on hearing a sound coming from the next room, but after a moment when he heard nothing further, he removed it. Despite the darkness of his bedroom, he shot a glare at the phoenix. After all, it was Fawkes who was nervous about him being awake. It didn't really matter to him either way as he knew his guardians would not mind.

Actually, he could see the potions master giving him something to sleep. Twisting his face slightly while imagining the taste of such a potion, he whispered to Fawkes not to nip him again as he really didn't want to have to drink anything yucky that late in the night. The phoenix responded by poking his chest lightly, in a clear indication that he would if Harry lay back down. The twelve year old resisted for a moment before reclining back against the pillow. A second nudge had him rolling over onto his stomach, his usual position, while the phoenix settled down on his back, shifting until it was comfortable.

"Happy now?" he grumbled, burying his face into his pillow.

Fawkes started humming a soft tune, one that never failed to lull him into a deep sleep.

"But I'm not tired," Harry grumbled, even as he closed his eyes to placate the bird. He found his mind drifting back to his earlier thoughts regarding a communication system, wondering if it was indeed possible. Despite himself, he found his mind continually returning to the possibility of creating such a thing, and, when he finally fell asleep, it was with a vague outline of how he would make such a thing a reality.

*

It was only through sheer determination that Severus managed not to squirm under the old man's steady gaze; indeed, he shot him a glare for making him feel like a schoolboy waiting for reprimanding. The twinkling grandfatherly look was gone; it had disappeared shortly after the old man had exited Potter's bedroom. Severus had initially planned to disappear into his own room at that point, however, knowing that there really was no keeping the old man out if he was determined to speak to him, Severus had reluctantly remained in his seat.

He had no intentions of saying anything though – he could be as stubborn as the old man when necessarily. He regretted his earlier action now. Had he maintained greater control of himself, he would not be stuck in this situation right now. However, schooling his reaction to Potter's mention of Divination had been impossible. Severus' mind had flashed to a vision of the boy seated in that stuffy, heavily scented tower and he had reacted. Nevertheless, he wished that the old man would not press the issue. He was not, nor ever would be ready to talk about the foolishness that had caused Lily her life. Years later, he could not dwell on the matter without cringing.

In avoiding Albus' gaze, Severus' eyes fell on Potter's door and despite his current situation, a small smile curved at his lips. Although Potter had acted quite normally and jovially during their game, Severus had half expected the boy to shy away from him when the time came to say goodnight. To his surprise though, far from simply coming over for a pat on the head, Potter had taken the initiative and had wrapped his arms around his shoulders for a long moment, murmuring to him to have a good night. Automatically, his hand had reached out to pat his back firmly, but words momentarily failed him as those green eyes looked at his for a long moment before the boy disappeared into his bedroom, Albus following him at a more sedate pace.

"Shall I use a compulsion charm on you?" Albus asked mildly, absently drumming his fingers against his leg.

"Don't you dare," he snapped, eyes narrowing.

"So much hostility...this really must be worrying you."

"You are the only thing that is bothering me old man."

"Oh?"

"All I want to do is go to my room and get some rest," he said, trying to keep his voice level. "You are preventing me from doing so."

"What you want to do is hide from me," Albus corrected, "And you will forgive me my boy, but I will not allow you to do so this time."

"You have no right..."

"I have every right," he interjected smoothly. "I am your keeper after all."

Severus' eyes narrowed at the man's choice of words. It rarely boded well for him when the headmaster drew reference to their official relationship. 'Keeper'. It was a quaint term yes, but for Severus, it was only a few notches higher on the rung than 'warden' or even 'jailor'. There were times when the potions master could almost forget why he lived with the old man and put up with his shenanigans; moments like these though brought him firmly back to reality. He had to put up with the man's antics because he had no other choice. Well, he had a choice, but it would give him a one way trip to Azkaban and, could he help it, Severus never wanted to see the insides of that dank place again. He was not sure if Albus was overtly reminding him of this fact at times like these, or if it was just him looking too deep into the man's words.

Nevertheless, as it always did at these moments, a kernel of fear rose within him, while a small voice whispered to him that it was wiser just to give in to whatever the old man wanted; that no matter how absurd or uncomfortable the request, it would ensure that Albus did not write him off as a hopeless case, and send him right back from whence he came. Severus' fingers clenched at the thought and, determined not to show the man how much his utterance had unnerved him, the potions master took up his tea cup once again, deliberately taking the time to savour it while wishing that it had been laced by a potion or four to help him get through this. Albus showed no reaction to his behaviour though; indeed, he looked like he had all the time in the world, as he consumed yet another pastry.

He seemed to be favouring one kind in particular, and curious about the triangular shape of it, he selected one, before grimacing when the strong and somewhat overbearing taste of blueberries filled his mouth. It wasn't too hard to guess why the old man had selected Mitsy as his personal house elf above all the others. The elf was the only one who easily catered to the man's eccentric taste, at the detriment of everyone else's.

"Your mouth will be the end of you," he grumbled, reluctantly finishing the treat.

"And what a pleasurable end it will be," he returned with a small smile. "Alas, that is still several years in the future. Why don't we focus on the present for now and why exactly you've spent the last five minutes sipping at your tea?"

"Because you won't let me go to bed," Severus returned sharply, pointedly taking another sip. "You are the one who is insisting that we stay here and talk, so don't put the blame on me."

"It's for your benefit. Really, Severus, will you not admit that you need to talk to someone?"

"No, I do not."

"Was I this stubborn when we spoke about Brian?" Albus asked next, the question startling Severus.

Severus really had not expected the old man to bring up that night, especially not in this context. However, he easily caught the hidden implications of his sentence. Not a good two weeks ago, he and the old man had had a similar discussion, but at that time it was the headmaster's past that had been up for perusal. It was only fair, he reluctantly acknowledged, that they turn the tables around when it was clear that he too had matters of the past to deal with. It did not mean that he liked it, nor was he comfortable with speaking about himself. He had never been. But then again, Albus had been reluctant at first to speak about Brian. The conversation had been very awkward at first as neither of them had any idea how they should go about interacting with each other on such a personal level. However, they had pushed past that, and ultimately, Albus had emerged much better for it. Obviously the headmaster was hoping to achieve a similar end by imposing this discussion upon him, but Severus was not sure if he wanted to go along with it. But, seeing the determined look in the man's gaze, he was not sure he had much of a choice.

"You play hard, old man," he grumbled, huffing at the triumphant look that briefly flashed across Albus' face.

"Whatever do you mean my boy? I am simply trying to understand your actions today."

"You already know what caused it though," he said knowingly, finally putting down the empty teacup.

He sighed at Albus' nod. Despite the past tensions between them, Severus readily admitted that Albus was perhaps one of the only living persons who knew him enough to gauge his mindset based primarily on his actions. The old man was simply trying to give him the opportunity to give voice to his emotions and in doing so, achieve some sort of clarity. But did he want to achieve that clarity, he wondered. Reluctantly he admitted that perhaps he needed to, whether or not he actually wanted to undergo the process. Recalling Potter's expression at his rash act was enough to suggest to him that he really should. He could have cared less if it was only Albus that had been affected by his mood, but for Potter...

Severus sighed again. He really did have a soft spot for the lad, and he knew that he could not fulfil his self-imposed mission for him if he himself was not in the best shape possible. How could he – and Albus for that matter – expect Potter to put his past behind him permanently if he himself could not do so? Still, he did not want to. He hated talking about himself. He always had. It had started from his childhood days, when he had always shaken his head and plastered a convincing smile on his face whenever his mother asked if he was in pain or had been too roughed up by his father. It had been his way of protecting a mother who was suffering enough without having to deal with her son's problems on top of that.

Even now he was uncertain if his mother was fully aware of what he had suffered during Tobias' drunken stupors. As far as possible, she had tried her best to ensure that the both of them were never alone together, especially after he had started showing signs of accidental magic. His rational mind knew that she had to have had some sort of indication, but since he never complained, she never acted upon it. But then again, what exactly would she have done if he had said something? No matter how abusive the man became, they had needed him to survive. But his mother was the only one he could smile for; everyone else found themselves at the end of a convincing glare from him, and it scared enough people away from him that the questions about himself became few and far apart. Lily was the only one who had easily broken through his facade. Maybe it was the fact that she knew that no-one who so willingly approached her about her magic could really be so unsociable. Or maybe it just had been in her nature to continue to poke and prod at him until he allowed her a concrete place within his life.

Lily.

Severus did not like dwelling on the fiery witch who had played such a crucial role in his life. It brought back only bittersweet memories and an intense longing for what he knew could never be. His longing was not entirely romantic. Yes, he had loved her deeply, but she had been more than a love interest to him. She had been his confident and friend, his protector during those moments when he simply could not find a way to defend himself and otherwise helpful. The ramifications of calling her that vile name had been dreadful; their friendship had been forever severed at that moment. But the moment he had learnt of her death – that had been a crushing blow that he still had not yet recovered from. After all, it was his misguided actions that had led to Voldemort learning of the prophecy in the first place. He had tried to make amends for that in the only way he knew possible; he had extracted a promise from Voldemort to spare the witch, and for all his heinousness, the Dark Lord had always kept his word. Or rather, he would have kept it had Lily not put the safety of her child above that of her own. Although he had not been there that fateful night, Severus was certain that Lily had been given ample opportunity to move aside and allow the Dark Lord to fulfil his aim. But she had chosen not to, and thus his promise to Severus had to be set aside.

Even to this day, Severus could not fully understand it. What would bring someone to willingly embrace death for the sake of someone else? If he had been in her position, what would he have done? Taken the curse for the child or moved aside? It was a question he had intermittently asked himself over the years, and truly, it was only now that he could actually acknowledge that he just might have acted in the same way as Lily. If it came down to it; if it was he standing between the child he now knew and himself, Severus was certain that he would take death willingly if it would protect Potter from harm.

"And to think that I detested him at one point," he said unwittingly with a dry laugh.

"Hated who?" Albus asked gently.

Severus had been quiet for a long time, so long that Albus had mostly cleared out the tray. He had not been disappointed by the silence though. It had been clear that Severus was lost in thought rather than ignoring him, and as various emotions flickered across his face, Albus had relaxed back into his seat, knowing that the potions master would speak when he was ready. Severus was never one to bare his soul for anyone, but he was one to share the results of his musings. One just had to be patient until he reached that point.

"Potter," Severus said, looking at him.

Examining his expression, Albus saw that this was one of those rare occasions when Severus willingly allowed him a bit of insight into himself. His eyes were not narrowed, nor was there any hint of annoyance on his face at his question.

"James?"

"Harry Potter," he amended, the barest hint of irritation creeping into his tone as if he considered the question to be silly.

"Harry?" Albus repeated with some confusion. That made little sense to him. Why yes he had known about Severus' initial reluctance toward the lad, but hate, really? "I told you once that hate is too strong a word to use freely."

"Detest then," he corrected with a slight wave of his hand. "Really, it comes down to the same thing. I did not like him from the start...strange how that has changed since then..."

"Why did you detest him?" Albus inquired, gently trying to guide Severus' thoughts when it was clear that he had no plans of continuing.

Severus lifted his eyes to look at him for a long moment, as if gauging something. Albus sat still, wondering if he would pass whatever test Severus seemed to be putting him through currently. However, after a moment, he nodded, as if satisfied by what he saw before continuing.

"I believe the popular theory is that I passed my hatred for James Potter down onto him, is it not? I would be rather shallow though if that was the sole reason, moreso since he really does not resemble Potter – James Potter, that much."

A look of annoyance crossed the man's face, undoubtedly because he was having to affirm which Potter he was speaking about. It was something that Albus had planned to raise with him actually. Perhaps once they were finished with this they could talk about that issue?

"It's not as if Lily's eyes are his only feature. It's always irked me that people see him only in terms of that. But then again, how many people took the time to map every contour of Lily's face the way I did? I suppose that the similarities to her would be more obvious if he didn't wear those glasses, but still, they are there for those who wish to see it. Regardless, I never detested Potter for how he looked. I detested him for being alive."

Severus could not help but notice the way Albus' shoulders stiffened at his blunt pronouncement, and at another time he might have bothered to soften the words. As is, the old man was getting his wish. He wanted an insight into his thoughts, and Severus saw no need to dampen it. Let the old man deal with it however best he could.

"Lily was never supposed to die," he continued, a hoarse edge creeping into his tone as the memory assaulted him. "When I realised what I had done...I asked...I pleaded...and he agreed. Lily would live...I knew that he would not betray me...and he did not. But I had forgotten how Lily was...how all mothers are I suppose. She gave up her life for her son...and that's why I det- damn it hated Potter. I hated him for making Lily love him so much that she would die for him. So when he came to Hogwarts...when I saw the reason that Lily was dead, I couldn't stand him and insulted him whenever I got the opportunity. And then it changed..."

Severus' voice trailed off as he relieved the horror of that night. He had been agitated from the moment he had realised that this was the night – the night where the Dark Lord would make the decisive move that would put him on the pathway to victory. He had isolated himself from the other Death Eaters mingling around, waiting for an order. Yes, tonight would be the night that ended it all, but it would also be the night when Lily lost her son. He had known that it would damage her irreparably, and he had also known that his promise to the Dark Lord had in no way done anything to protect her husband. But he had not given a damn about that. James Potter's safety had meant nothing to him, and neither did the child once he thought about it.

Lily would be fine. She would grieve but she would move on, and he had the assurance that the Dark Lord would not have her persecuted for her unfortunate bloodline. After all, despite everything, she now carried the pureblood name of Potter. Although she would always be scum in the Dark Lord's eyes, she would give birth to children who, in time, would return the Potter name to its untainted state. Voldemort had promised him that, and Severus had clung to that hope.

What a despicable fool he had been.

"What changed?" Albus asked softly, distracting him from his thoughts.

Appreciative for the prompt, Severus spoke once again. "This happened," he said, only now realising the full irony of the situation. Not only was he raising James Potter's child, he was also raising the boy whose life he had been hoping would be given up for the sake of his mother. Shaking his head slightly, he continued. "After that night, I detested him. Lily was dead and by your words, the boy was safely in the hands of relatives. I did not want that. Lily had sacrificed herself for some snivelling brat who would inevitably grow up to be as spoilt as or worse than his father.

"And then he arrived, and within days I realised that this was not the case. Oh I had been vindictive to him those first days, but honestly, from the start I had realised that he was not the spoilt brat I had hoped he would be. But neither did I expect him to be abused. The very fact that I could see bits of Lily in him at first irritated me, and yes I took that out on him when the opportunity emerged. But after the attack...when I saw for myself what Petunia had done to him, my hate changed to rage – but not at him.

"I could not continue to hate him after I had seen the life that he lived. Yes, Lily was dead, and yes he was the cause, but that did not mean that I wanted the worst for him. Ironic isn't it? I hated him yet I wanted a lavish life for him because it would mean that Lily's wish had come to pass...that her child was happy. But for Lily's son to be abused like that, to believe himself less than a human... Lily's death was in vain and would continue to be so unless I ensured that Potter truly was indeed safe and happy."

"Is everything you do for Harry based on Lily?" Albus inquired gently.

Severus' eyebrow rose at the man's question and briefly, he considered it. "Initially," he said finally. "Somewhere along the line it changed, and I care for Potter simply because he is...dear to me." The last few words were barely audible, but Albus heard them, much to Severus' chagrin.

A radiant expression briefly flashed across the headmaster's face and Severus barely resisted the urge to sigh. The old man loved moments like these when he showed positive feelings toward someone. At any other time, Severus would have expected Albus to start needling him about his feelings toward him, but he suspected that the old man considered the current conversation too important for such segue. It would undoubtedly come sometime in the near future though, and the barest hint of a grin graced his face at the thought. That would be a banter he would thoroughly enjoy.

"For me to do otherwise would make me no better than some of the other people around him," Severus continued. "After all, there are too many people who see Potter as one thing or another – boy who lived, or child of Lily and James. He deserves more than that, and I've been careful not to let my experiences with his parents colour my interactions with him too much."

"Which is why he does not even know that Lily was your friend?"

"Precisely," Severus agreed. "I'll tell him about that right after you tell him about Brian," he added, daring to bring up the name since Albus had done so earlier.

"Touché."

Both paused when a light pop indicated that Mitsy had entered the room.

"Mitsy be bringing sirs a new tray," she said, snapping her fingers to dispose of the previous one before replacing it with the one she bore.

"Thank you, Mitsy," Albus responded, while Severus nodded.

Bobbing her head once, she left the room, leaving the pair alone once again. "She knows us too well," Severus murmured even as he reached out to organize the tray.

A few minutes later, Severus started the conversation again. "How did we get to my treatment of Potter?" he asked curiously. "We were supposed to be discussing Divination."

"It's all linked," Albus replied with a shrug, fiddling with a biscuit. "And when will you stop calling him that?"

"What?"

"Potter," he added, "when will you start calling him by his given name? It took you years to call me anything besides Dumbledore –"

"I called you lots of things," Severus interrupted with a smirk.

"Those were all insults."

"Your point being?"

Severus laughed softly at the glare the headmaster sent his way, relaxing down into his seat. Mitsy's arrival had allowed for a transition in the conversation, moving it into a lighter realm. Severus was determined to keep it this way. He had had enough contemplation for one night; he would just banter with the man for a bit before heading off to bed to recover from all of this.

"When will you start calling him Harry?" Albus persisted.

"Can't think of a comeback?" Severus smirked, before responding. "Does it really matter what I call him anyway? He doesn't seem to mind in the least...does he?"

"He's never mentioned it."

"See? So why should I confuse the boy? He knows that I care for him; I do not need to call him Harry to affirm that. If anything, why don't you nag him into calling you something other than 'headmaster' or 'sir'?"

"It never really occurred to me," he admitted.

"And it's the same with me. It's a natural thing for me to do. After all, you tricked me into calling you Albus...that is another thing I owe you a hex for. Leave me be old man, and the boy as well. This little family you've formed is in no way normal; I don't think it is right to expect much normalcy from us and unconsciously you must have realised that. Potter will never call you by your name, but to give you a title introduces an unnecessary complication into our lives. What would he call you? Father? Or even grandfather given the fact that you're older than some of Egypt's mummies?"

"I am not that old!" Albus grumbled, although he nodded in acknowledgement of the truth behind his words.

Severus snickered before continuing. "And then if the child finds a title for you, he'd feel obligated to find one for me, and that in itself is another complication – what would I be to him? Father? Uncle? Brother? That's way too much of a complication to deal with. Our relationships with each other do not fall within typical boundaries, so let's leave things as they are, okay? If, at some point in the future, Potter decides to change his means of addressing us, fine. If it never occurs, that is fine as well, but we will not impose anything on the boy, alright?"

"Fine," Albus agreed.

"Now, are we done here, old man? I am tired."

"We never really reached a conclusion about Divination though."

"I think I've made my stance clear," Severus said, popping a piece of a treacle tart into his mouth. "I want nothing to do with the subject and I will not be pleased if Potter decides to pursue it. Without that prophecy everything would have been different. Lily...and James might even still be alive."

"As would Voldemort."

Severus ignored that statement; Albus was looking at things from a holistic perspective while he was preoccupied with the thought that the redhaired witch would still be among the living had that prophecy not come to light. "My views on the matter will not be swayed. At best I will promise not to be a detractor if he chooses it, but I will not allow him to develop an avid interest in it old man."

"Honestly, I doubt he will choose it now," Albus admitted, "not with you being so obviously against it. He really does look up to you. He won't do it if it would garner disapproval from you."

Severus found the statement oddly pleasing and hid a smile behind his teacup. "Good. It'll make my task a lot simpler if I do not have to keep him out of Trewlany's clutches. Now to ensure that Lovegood stays out of her reach as well..."

It was not the first time that Severus had made such a pronouncement, and Albus made a note to get him to elaborate on the thought at a later occasion. "He's brought Miss Lovegood into his circle of friends now, hasn't he?"

"Yes, alongside that menace Creevy. I swear I will confiscate that camera."

"You will do no such thing," Albus laughed.

"Really, Albus. The boy tried to take a swim out into the lake to get a better picture of the squid. It'd be for his own safety!"

"He was hardly up to his knees and Hagrid got him out immediately. You're just peeved that he managed to get a picture of the both of us."

"At least Potter managed to get his hands on it...it's the only thing that saved him from detention for the rest of his life."

"I never did get that picture frame I promised Harry. Silly child; he kept it under his pillow for months. Did he think we would mind?"

"He was just protecting Creevy most likely," Severus said with a sigh, recalling the surprise (and mild horror) he had felt at the fact that the first year had managed to capture such a personal moment without notice.

"Our little hero," Albus beamed.

"Whatever, old man. Now, I am serious this time. We will finish this tray and then I am going to bed. Understood?"

"Fine," he acknowledged. "But we'll have to do this again soon."

"You act as if we don't have tea together every other night."

"You know what I mean."

"I do," Severus responding, "and yes, I suppose we should. These conversations are helpful and...enlightening."

"I feel the same way. Now, why don't you try a next blueberry tart hmm? The second time is the charm after all."

"The third time is the charm," he corrected.

"So you'll eat two more then? Good!"

Severus snorted at that, ruefully acknowledging that he had fell for the man's trap. It was all right though, he decided. He would give the old man a bit of leeway with this. After all, while the conversation had been forced unto him, he had not lied; he really had benefited from it.


	44. Chapter 44

"I swear I will deep fry this bird," Severus declared without preamble as he stalked out of his bedroom.

Albus found his lips twitching as, despite his dark tone, the potions master was making no effort to shrug off Fawkes, who was perched on his shoulder with a decisively mischievous expression on his face.

"Come here, Fawkes," Albus bid, holding out his arm for the bird to land on. "I told you to leave him be," he whispered to him as Severus passed by.

He needed a distraction.

"Initially, yes," the headmaster agreed, "if only to stop him from hexing me."

You shouldn't have left him to sleep on the couch then.

"He looked too peaceful to be disturbed."

Then you should have been prepared for the consequences.

Albus snorted slightly at that. "You can act as sage-like as you want, Fawkes, I know the truth. You just wanted the opportunity to play with his hair, why won't you admit it?"

It's not my fault it looked like little worms.

"Fawkes!"

I'm going to the office. Between the hatchling and Sir Grim, I am lacking on sleep.

"Harry?" Albus said questioningly.

I said nothing, Fawkes declared, before flashing out of the room.

Albus' brow crinkled slightly but he dismissed it. Harry looked perfectly fine this morning; indeed, he had (in his own way) scolded him for leaving the potions master in the living room. He had set up a breakfast tray especially for the man – one that he was now eating – before departing with Filius. Albus shook his head at the memory. Apparently his old friend had not trusted him to keep his word, and had come to fetch Harry himself. Albus had allowed it simply because Harry seemed willing. Yes, he had nipped at his lip in that way that indicated that he was not completely comfortable, but his voice had been steady when he had confirmed that he wanted to go.

And so Albus had let him, promising that he and Severus would join them once they had gotten the morning's work taken care of.

"You're staring into space," Severus pointed out dryly.

Albus turned to him, noting that he was half way through his breakfast. "I was just thinking," he replied as he joined him at the table, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "And you can thank Harry for the breakfast."

"You let him into the kitchen?"

"You know what I mean," Albus huffed. "He took very good care of you this morning. You should thank him."

The potions master's only response was a raised eyebrow as he took a bite of his muffin.

Answering the silent question, Albus said, "Harry saw you on the couch during a trip to the bathroom. He brought you your blanket. What, do you think I tucked you in?"

"You do it for Potter at every opportunity."

"Ah, but he does not wake up at the slightest sound or touch. I'm still not certain how he managed not to disturb you; you twitched when I cast that levitation charm on you. Regardless, he made sure you were protected from the cold, although given the warming charm and the fire I started, contracting a cold was in no way possible. Then when he saw you there again this morning he started checking you for a sign of illness– such a sweet child. I should not have admitted that I had left you sleeping out here after our tea session. The scold he gave me was quite dreadful. Why really, save the two of you, nary a person dares to say a word against me and - "

"We are talking about Potter old man. And I highly doubt that he scolded you."

"Fine then," he sniffed. "Perhaps he didn't quite scold, but he conveyed his point quite nicely. I am to treat you with upmost care today and not cause you any discomfort to compensate for leaving you out here."

"Yet you allowed the pheasant to pull at my hair. I swear if I get a bald spot..."

"Oh hush you. I'm sure that he only took a hair or two...or twenty."

Severus sent him a smouldering glare that Albus purposely avoided. "You're overdue for a haircut anyway, so what if Fawkes nibbled at the ends?"

"I'll cut my hair the day you cut off that ridiculous beard. Are you aiming to tuck it in to your socks?"

"It is not that long," he replied, clutching it defensively.

"Of course it isn't. It's supposed to double as a scarf."

"Why are you being mean to me?"

"Maybe because you left me in the living room you old coot. What am I supposed to tell Potter? There are no dwarfs for me to have been guarding against. And where is he anyway?"

"You've only now noticed his absence? Filius took him a while ago. Where did you think he was?"

"Playing in his room...but then again, I should have known better. My future feather duster would not have given me the time of day if Potter was around."

"You're not at all concerned that Harry's alone out there?" Albus asked, ignoring Severus' plans for his familiar.

"Were this day of activities set in the Forbidden Forest I would mind," he responded glibly. "As is, I am certain that the child is and will continue to be fine."

"Such faith you have."

"Potter is not the same child that came to us, Albus," Severus said seriously. "He can hold his own now. He doesn't require our constant presence."

"I know that..."

"But refuse to accept it," Severus finished. "You want this – we want this, remember. Potter needs to reach his full potential. We have to give him the opportunity to do so...even if it means sitting in your office when we would rather be out there watching him."

Albus' eyes widened at Severus' indirect admission. It wasn't like the potions master to be so open, but then again, it wasn't like him to humour him for so long over breakfast. When he met the man's eyes Severus offered him a small smirk.

"Consider it repayment for a good night's sleep, location excluded," he quipped as he rose, heading for his bedroom. "I'll meet you in the office in a few minutes, and for your sake, Drumstick has better be in there and not trailing after the child."

Albus could only nod at that, unable to formulate a suitable response. It was the nearest thing to a "thank you" he would ever get from Severus for their chat the previous night, but he would willingly take it. It was better than nothing after all.

Harry stifled the urge to sigh as he stood awkwardly near the entrance to the quidditch pitch. Professor Flitwick had left him there with a cheerful smile and an encouragement to make the most of the day. Harry had managed a positive response, but it had only taken a glance around him for him to wish for the calming presence of his guardians. How was he supposed to fit in here?

"You'll hardly have any fun secreted in a corner like this."

Harry turned around to find his Head of House approaching him, her arms full. Despite her words, the pre-teen snickered a bit even as he closed the distance between them to take a few things out of her hands. "Levitation Charm, Professor," he reminded, drawing a rueful chuckle from her.

The witch bent slightly toward him as they walked, mischievously whispering, "Between you and me Harry, Charms and I were never a good combination. I levitated Professor Flitwick instead of my feather and the charm faded abruptly so..."

Her voice trailed off even as Harry bit his lip against a laugh. "Really, Professor?"

"Well, Professor Flitwick would deny it if you ask. It wasn't exactly a shining moment for him either."

"What's this about me?"

By that time they had reached the stands where the man was seated. Professor Sinistra gave him a mischievous wink. "Oh nothing really, Professor. I was just telling Harry about my first Charms lesson."

"I have no idea what you speak of," he said in a tone that had Harry snickering again.

"Thanks for the help, Harry. I'm sorry I had to make you work today."

"That's okay, Professor," he replied, placing down the things. "I don't mind."

"Off you go then," she bid, reaching out to pat his head. "Have a fun day, and don't forget what we spoke about."

Harry's face fell slightly at that, even as he nodded, trudging off with less enthusiasm. Did she expect him to start talking to Ron today? He hadn't even gotten a chance to speak to his friends about it and really wasn't looking forward to having to deal with the redhead on his own. He quickly found him a little distance away, laughing uproariously with the twins and Ginny. There was no way he was going to go over there now. However he also knew that he could not remain standing here for much longer. Not only would he look silly but it would also draw the Professor's attention back to him.

So what was he to do? The answer came in the form of Percy Weasley. He was seated on the grass a good distance away from all of the other students. Breathing a sigh of relief, Harry made his way to where Percy was sitting cross-legged, seemingly engrossed in a book. He would be fine with Percy and he knew that the Professor wouldn't approach him yet as long as he wasn't on his own. He stopped a foot or so away from him though. Percy had deliberately separated himself from everyone else. Should he disturb him?

His question was answered though when the sixth year looked up for a moment and caught sight of him. He smiled kindly at him, and beckoned him over with a wave. Grateful, Harry closed the distance between them, settling across from him on the grass even as the older wizard set the book aside. The redhead was the one Weasley Harry had no problem interacting with, simply because he was so different from his siblings. He was the bookish type and always had a kind word to say to anyone around him. More than once he had come over to their table in the library to offer assistance or had joined them for a quick chat in the common room.

"What are you reading?" Harry asked curiously.

"It's a book on etiquette," he answered, holding it out to him. "I've read it before but I need to start brushing up on my skills."

"Why?"

"I want to get a job in the Ministry during the summer vacation," he said enthusiastically. "It'll mostly be dull stuff but the experience is what is important. If I can impress with my skills and behaviour it'll make it easier to get a proper job there once I leave Hogwarts."

"Your father works in the Ministry, right?"

A small grimace crossed Percy's face even as he nodded. "He works in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office. And no, I don't want to work there," he added as if anticipating his question.

There was a rather strained edge to the words, but Harry decided to ignore it. "Where do you want to work?"

"I want to work in one of the International departments," he said brightly. "I'll work my way up until I qualify to represent the Ministry abroad."

"That's great," Harry responded. "I don't have a clue what I want to do."

Percy gave him a knowing look. "Professor Sinistra spoke to you already didn't she? I thought so. Ron was grumbling about it yesterday. He's already decided his subjects."

"Really?"

Percy snorted lightly. "Don't be alarmed. He's decided to follow Fred and George and do 'easy' OWL subjects. Really, I had hoped he'd take after me. Oh well, there's still Ginny."

"You really aren't like them," Harry stated softly.

"The gene pool diluted after me," he said dryly. "Bill, Charlie and I share the most in common, but I really don't see them anymore. It's why we're here actually. Charlie got injured on the job so Mom went to care for him and this bunch is too difficult for Dad to handle on his own. If they'd been less prone to trouble I'd have offered to look out for everyone so that we could have spent the holidays at home. As is... Anyway, Ron also said that you second years have to try to get along."

Harry reluctantly nodded at that, wondering if Percy would make him go over to where Ron, Fred and George were.

"I'm a bit surprised you and Ron don't get along actually. Harry Potter was his hero growing up and you were together on the train that day..."

"I'm not the Harry Potter he expected," Harry said with a small smile. "I can't live up to what he wants me to be. That's why he doesn't like me."

Percy was silent for a long moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I never thought about it that way," he admitted finally. "You've had it hard haven't you?"

"It's better now," Harry replied, "I've got friends now."

"Well that's good. However, I don't think that the professors will leave us alone for much longer. And Professor Sinistra seems to especially have her eyes set on you."

"Yeah well...that's why I came over here to start with," Harry admitted. "I figured she wouldn't make me talk to Ron immediately if I was with you."

"So I'm a distraction, huh?" Percy laughed. "That's all right. It's really hard what she's asking you second years to do in a way. Tell you what, I'll help out a bit."

"How?" Harry inquired, watching as Percy shrunk his book before storing it in a pocket.

"Come on," he bid, rising. "We'll grab one of those Quaffles and start a match with the Slytherins."

"How will that help with Ron?"

"He can't resist a game of catch, no matter who's playing," Percy explained as they headed in the direction of the pair of Slytherins. "At least the Professor will see the two of you playing together. It's better than nothing. I won't be much help after lunch though. There's going to be a quidditch match and if I can help it, I'm not getting involved with that. I seem to attract all the bludgers to me."

Harry nipped his lip at that. He had liked flying well enough, but he hadn't been on a broom since first year. Added to the way the Weasley twins behaved during quidditch matches, Harry idly wondered if he could do the same.

*

Ron Weasley found himself staring openly at Harry Potter many times over the morning, his Head of House's words ringing in his ears. He had been more than annoyed by her edict. After all, why should he and his friends waste their times with the losers of Gryffindor? Granger had had her chance and blew it. It wasn't like they had particularly liked her, but still, they had kept her around. And then she had chosen Potter and Longbottom over them. Why Longbottom of all people, Ron wondered, not for the first time. There was nothing at all remarkable about him. He was just...Longbottom. Ron couldn't even find any proper words to use to describe him. He was just that forgettable. It was the one thing Ron had been determined not to be when he started Hogwarts. Growing up with so many siblings wasn't the ideal situation, especially when one was the sixth boy. There was just nothing remarkable after so many others before you – eventually you just started blending in. And that was exactly what had happened to Ron. Oh he knew his parents loved him, but they never really had much time for him, especially given the twins' antics and their constant gushing over Percy. It just wasn't fear. It wasn't his fault that he wasn't bookish. He couldn't create the mayhem Fred and George got into either. It was why he had looked forward to Hogwarts so much. It gave him the opportunity to break out of the shadows and just be himself.

He had found that with his current friends, but now and then as time passed he had found himself casting glances toward Potter. He had been ecstatic when he had first met him on the train – heck, who wouldn't have been? But it hadn't taken him too long to decide that Potter was little more than a fraud. He was no hero. He barely spoke, sat curled up in a corner of the carriage and jumped at the slightest noise. He had not even been able to respond to Malfoy when he had spewed all that nonsense about family and honour. He had not made a move to defend him, something that he should have done. But no, he did not, and growing more and more irritated, Ron had quickly separated himself from him. He still observed him on occasion, looking for a sign that the Harry Potter he had expected was buried within that timid boy somewhere.

And truthfully, he had started seeing signs of him this past term. That no wand thing was wicked, and that rumour about Potter defending Creevey against Professor McGonagall? That had been enough to encourage Ron and the other boys to approach him once again. Maybe what people were saying was true. Maybe first year had been some sort of fluke and Potter was finally ready to act like he was supposed to. But Potter, much like Granger, rebuffed their offer of friendship, something that had had Ron shooting dirty looks at him ever since. Who was he to refuse their friendship, especially when they were much more suited for him than those two losers...not to mention that Ravenclaw that sometimes hung around them? Everyone knew she was crazy and tended to avoid her and yet Potter preferred to be around her than them.

He really did not understand him.

And, while munching on a sandwich, Ron could not help but wonder if he ever would.

He was a bit confused now. Since when did Potter and Percy talk? The question had bugged him ever since he had seen the pair laughing together on the grass. That feeling had only been compounded when he saw them playing catch together. An emotion he refused to label as jealously rose within him. He couldn't remember the last time Percy played ball with him, why was he playing it with Potter of all people?

It had only taken him five minutes to abandon his observations of the wildlife Hagrid had brought. Instead he had stalked over to where Percy, Potter and the two Slytherins were playing, all but demanding to be allowed to join. He had been a bit miffed when Percy had only smirked before gesturing for him to stand a bit away from Potter. He did not really mind – it meant he could better deflect the boy's efforts to catch the quaffle.

How wrong such a thought had been.

Potter was agile.

Everyone in the game was surprised by Potter's efficiency. He never missed a catch no matter how wide, high or far back the ball was tossed. And Ron had gone out of his way to throw the ball crocked toward him, but still, it seemed as if the ball was drawn to Potter. It reached a point where, curious, the Slytherin boy had gone to Professor Flitwick who transfigured a smaller ball for them. The result had been the same. All the other students had joined in eventually, with the twins commenting that they would have to try him out with a Snitch after lunch. Potter had briefly grimaced at that before returning to his cheerful demeanour, even laughing loudly several times.

Even now he was laughing at something one of the Slytherins was telling him. Ron had never heard him laugh like that and it bothered him. Potter should be laughing like that with him.

"Why don't you just go talk to him?"

"Huh?"

His brother gestured to where Potter was sitting. "You've been staring at him this entire time, Ron. Go talk to him."

"I don't want to," he frowned, taking a deep bite out of his sandwich.

"So why do you keep watching him then?"

"It's not a crime."

"Hmm."

"Don't do that," he frowned. He hated when Percy made that stupid sound. It was his way of teasing him and he was never quite certain what he was mocking.

Percy snorted before returning to his own meal.

Ron mimicked him, finishing his sandwich and grabbing another one before he spoke again. "He chose Longbottom and Granger over me," he said. "Why should I talk to him now? They're a bunch of losers."

Ron looked away briefly at the withering look his older brother shot him. He knew Percy's stance on insults after all, but he could not help it – it was the truth!

"I always got the impression that it was you who did not choose him," the sixth year pointed out mildly.

"Did he say that?"

"He didn't have to."

Ron frowned again. Why did Percy always have to run around in circles instead of just saying what he meant? "I don't like him," he huffed eventually.

"Why?"

The second year floundered for a moment, trying in vain to find the right words to express his thoughts. Finally he settled for blurting out, "He's – he's just all wrong."

It wasn't the best thing he could have said, but Percy seemed to understand him just fine, because he shook his head slightly even as he sighed. He murmured something too soft for him to hear before glancing at Potter. Frowning, Ron took a large bite out of his sandwich to distract himself; why did Percy care about him? Now that he thought about it, he had seen his brother and Potter together a good few times. In fact, Potter had probably spoken to Percy more times than he had over the past term. He hadn't cared then – he wasn't as close to Percy as he was with his other brothers, but seeing Percy direct concern to Potter of all people bothered him tremendously. It was one next thing to hold against him.

By the time the meal had ended, Ron had worked himself into a fine temper, with most of his anger directed at the boy now by Percy's side again. It was irritating the way Potter had instantly moved to him as soon as the meal had ended. What was worse was the way that Percy had slung an arm over his shoulder, and had told him something that had elicited that laugh that Ron was swiftly growing to detest. He had sought out the twins then, who were teasing Ginny outside the stadium. Eagerly he joined in the activity, knowing that the witch wouldn't dare hex them with so many professors in close proximity. It did not stop her from getting revenge though, and all three were eternally grateful when Madam Hooch's whistle sounded, a sign that the afternoon's activities would be commencing soon.

The witch shot them a wicked grin when they finally re-entered the quidditch pitch before sending an angelic smile upwards to their head of house. All three brothers rolled their eyes, knowing that they were better off avoiding Professor Sinistra for now. If the woman saw their dishevelled state, she was bound to ask questions, and would not believe that the little darling by her side was capable of the actions they would describe to her. After all, if their mother was easily deceived by Ginny's angelic air, a Professor who had known her for only a term would not stand a chance against it. Sticking his tongue out at her when the Professor's attention was diverted, Ron followed the twins on to the field where the other students were already gathering. Professor Snape and Headmaster Dumbledore had arrived, he noted, grimacing slightly as his eyes landed on the potions master. The man had it out for him. It was the only way to explain the Poor he had received from him. Excluding History of Magic, he had at least managed Acceptables in all his other subjects. He was quite proud of that fact, especially since he hadn't had Granger around to check his assignments for him. Professor Sinistra didn't seem to think the same way though, but given the fact that she wanted him to befriend Potter, he didn't particularly care what she thought.

Speaking of Potter...

Ron's mood had been significantly bolstered during the 'game' with his siblings, but now, seeing Potter, he felt that good mood declining. He was still by Percy's side. Just what were they talking about for so long?

"What's got your knickers in a twist Ronnikins?" George asked.

"Don't call me that," he retorted reflexively, "but to answer your question, that."

"Ah, so Percy's found a new little brother huh?"

"It's about time," Fred added, coming up beside him. "We've been trying to pan him off on a next family for years. How much do you think Potter will want for him Forge?"

"He can have him for free Gred if it means that Mom stops nagging."

"That's good enough for me," he grinned.

"That's not funny guys," Ron protested.

His words were met by identical grins. "Is Ronnikins jealous?"

"It can't be," Fred mock-gasped, "he complains about Percy the most."

"I am not jealous, I'm...I'm not."

"If you say so," they chorused.

"Shall we lend fair Ronny a hand Gred?"

"Perhaps," he shrugged. "He did prove rather useful against our dearest sister."

"That is true. But if we do help him we'd be stuck with Percy..."

"Such a dilemma."

"Mom's never going to let you sell Percy."

"But the transaction would be completed long before she notices. He won't be missed for days."

"Yup. With six sons, she can more than afford to spare one or two."

"We'd have to sell Ginny to get a reaction out of her."

"You two are scary."

Far from being insulted, the twins smiled appreciatively, with George reaching out to clasp his shoulder.

"Flattery will get you everywhere –"

"With us so –"

"We'll help you with –"

"Percy and Harry after all."

Ron barely had time to process their words before the twins were off, making a beeline toward their two targets. Ron could only watch with fond exasperation as the pair proceeded to make a nuisance of themselves until Potter, never one to stay around rowdiness, moved away. It was only a temporary solution, Ron acknowledged, but still, it was better than nothing. Besides, there were few things more interesting than watching Percy try to rid himself of the presence of the twins.

*

Looking down over the lake, Harry could barely resist the urge to dive down and skim the water with his hand. He had forgotten just how wonderful it felt to be on a broomstick like this. It was only his third time on a broom. As first years, they had had three Flying lessons in total, and as Neville had broken his wrist during that first lesson, they had never gotten the chance to fly that day. They had been under heavy restrictions during the lessons, and had barely been more than five feet off the ground at any given time, but even then, Harry had known that he loved the freedom that came with flying. And this time, he was determined to get the best out of it.

Madam Hooch had started them off with a lesson, just as a reminder to them before they had taken to the air. Harry had stayed by Percy's side at first, but, growing braver, he had taken off on his own, flying higher and higher until he had a view of the grounds. The Slytherins and eventually the Weasley twins had climbed to his height as well, and, embolden from their earlier games, Harry engaged them in a race which surprisingly, he had won. Madam Hooch had joined them at that point, and, after declaring that they seemed competent enough, allowed them outside the confines of the stadium after casting a few spells to ensure that they came to no harm.

Harry had immediately made a beeline for the lake and was now hovering over it. The lake was his favourite place on the grounds, and if someone needed him, he could usually be found there. It was one of the reasons he loved being in the headmaster's office; it had a clear view of the lake, and so Harry often curled up by the window, simply looking out on it. He could not resist coming to the lake now to observe it from this angle. He could see the Giant squid's tentacles and the way it sprawled over a great expanse of the water. And, swimming around them were fishes of various shapes and sizes, a few bravely nibbling at a tentacle. Moving forward slightly, Harry could observe sea grasses whose leaves seemed to be waving at him, drawing forth a light laugh from him.

"Wow," he breathed, a moment later, when his view was abruptly obstructed. He was near the middle of the lake now, and he could see nothing but darkness as he stared downwards. He flew forward and backwards, trying to judge the drop off point. It was an abrupt decline past a certain point and he figured that this was why swimming was banned – it could very well be your last swim. A bit unnerved by the thought, Harry changed directions, heading now toward the green houses where the Slytherin duo were diving and twisting.

Briefly, he considered asking their names, after all, it wouldn't do to keep calling them "the two Slytherins" or any such derivative. Seeing his approach, they waved him over.

"Hey, Harry," the blond-haired wizard called, as he approached. "Can you do a flip?"

"I haven't tried to do that yet," he replied, before asking. "What's your name?"

The boy beamed at him before responding. "My name's Alastair and this is my cousin Emmaline."

"Hello," she said, bobbing her head. "Well we already know who you are."

The girl's tone was playful, and Harry chuckled in response. "What years are you in?"

"I'm a third year," Alastair responded, "she's a wee firstie."

"Stop that," she snapped, reaching out to tap him. He nimbly avoided it before throwing her a teasing look.

"Peeves chased me my first day here," she explained, "and Alastair won't let me forget it."

"Of course I won't," he smirked. "But anyway, do you want to try those flips Harry?"

"Err – sure. I'm not sure how to do it though..."

"That's all right. You managed those twists and turns earlier, you can do a flip. Now watch me."

A minute later, Harry mimicked the boy's actions, matching them perfectly. That spurned a new game for them in which they all put together and then mimicked each other's moves. By the time they decided to return to the stadium and see if the next activity had begun, they were all rosy cheeked and panting slightly, with broad grins on their faces. Leisurely they flew back, chatting amicably with each other.

As they re-entered it, Emmaline shot him a surprisingly shy look. "What?" he asked.

"I was just thinking...I really like you, Harry. You're nice."

Harry blushed at that before responding, "You're nice too. And you too, Alastair."

"Maybe we can do this again sometime?" she requested. "I don't mean flying per se but...can we..."

"Emmaline wants to know if you'd like to hang out with us sometime again. I know it's not usually done but..."

"I'd love too," Harry responded. "I-I really don't care about Houses."

Both seemed relieved by that. "Your friends won't mind though?" she pressed.

"No. You're nice. They'll like you and you'll like them. I'm sure of it."

"I've spoken to Luna already," she said as they landed. "She's...interesting."

Harry snickered at that, "She really is. Oh, Professor Snape's here! And the headmaster too."

The cousins shared a confused look at his enthusiasm, but Harry could care less as he waved to them. Both gaped slightly when both men returned the gesture. The potions master never acted in a friendly way to anyone outside of Slytherin. They both looked at him with a new sense of respect that had Harry looking away shyly.

"It doesn't look like there will be a quidditch match after all," Alastair stated, looking around.

All of the students were still engaged in their respective activities, and, save the Weasley twins, they were the only ones still on brooms.

"Maybe they were waiting on us?"

"It doesn't seem so," Harry added. "I don't think there are enough of us who know how to play the game anyway. It probably wouldn't be much fun."

"You've never played quidditch?" Emmaline asked.

"That's obvious, Em," Alastair snorted. "He never even did a flip before today."

"That isn't obvious," she huffed, "he could just be a safe flier. Not everyone is as crazy as you. If Uncle knew the things you do..."

Harry chuckled as the pair dissolved into a brief argument that ended when they both noted his mirth.

"You live together?" he deduced.

"Yes," Emmaline confirmed. "My mom's a squib. She married a muggle who didn't want anything to do with a magical child. My Uncle took me in."

"And now I'm stuck with her," he mock-groaned.

"Oh...uh...sorry."

"It's okay," she laughed. "It just makes things a bit...difficult in Slytherin sometimes."

"Professor Snape doesn't help?"

"He does," she said, "but there is only so much he could do. It's why I'm glad that Alastair's here."

"You could try making friends from other houses," Harry told her; reciting the bit of advice the man had given him during the summer vacation.

"Hopefully I have," she responded.

Harry ran his hand through his hair, uncertain of how to respond to that.

Alastair spared him though by flying off suddenly, yelling for them to catch him if they could. Spurred on by the challenge, the pair shared a look before chasing after the third year. They passed the rest of the afternoon that way, getting to know each other better over various flying games until it was time to call a halt to the day's activities.

It was an exhausted but contented Harry who dropped into his bed that night, barely managing a coherent response to his guardians before he descended into the realm of sleep. He might not have accomplished his Head of House's wish for him to get to know Ron better, but at least he could safely say that he had two more friends.


	45. Chapter 45

"I have ten minutes to spare," Severus said without preamble, walking into Albus' office. "Start talking."

Albus shot the potions master a confused look. "Whatever do you mean, my boy?"

"Tell me what is bothering you," he demanded, dropping down on a chair across from him. "Drumstick is currently in my office resting after badgering me to come up here. You are disturbing his sleep apparently, although he's been doing little else recently, I might add."

"Ah, I forgot that you've never experienced a burning day and its precursors."

"He'll be reborn soon?" Severus asked. "Is this why his feathers are dulling?"

"I'm surprised you've noticed that already. And to answer your question he isn't near to the burning point yet. That's a good few weeks down the road still...although it will occur sooner if he expends his energy prancing around with Harry as he still insists on doing."

Severus nodded slightly at the truth in the statement. The phoenix was only its usual lively, mischievous self around the twelve year old now. Otherwise it was content to perch in a corner of a room, either looking about like a silent sentinel or passing the hours sleeping.

"Does Potter know about the burning day?"

"He doesn't," Albus responded mischievously. "I'm not going to tell him either. It'll be a nice surprise for him...I know it was for me."

Severus arched an eyebrow at that, "Is that...wise?" he pressed gently. "Won't he look like death warmed over in the days leading up to it? Potter will be concerned."

Albus' brows furrowed a bit, "I had not considered that," he admitted. "But I do so want him to experience it as I did."

"Potter's needs are more important, old man."

"You are right I suppose. I'll tell him when the changes become a bit more noticeable. Fawkes would never forgive me if Harry starts fussing over him like he's an invalid."

"Speaking from experience?"

"I only did that once. I do not know where Fawkes found the energy from given his ragged state, but he attacked me. I can almost feel the dents," he added, rubbing his arm in remembrance. "He paid for it though. That burst of energy sped up the burning day considerably, but I don't think he minded at all. He loves being coddled as a baby, never afterwards."

"Hmm. It's been a nice segue, Albus, but I have not forgotten my original intention in coming here."

Albus huffed in annoyance, leaning back fully in his chair. "It's nothing," he said presently, "it's just that the newest batch of cases for the Wizengamont has been delivered."

"And?"

The headmaster glared at him. "Do you have any idea how stressful the next few months will be? It's the start of the new session which means almost daily meetings to discuss the same things over and over. Late nights and early morning, days if not weeks without me being here for more than an hour or two and..."

"You won't have as much time as you would like for Potter," Severus finished.

The headmaster's face fell even as he nodded. "I was thinking about it last night. It seems like we've had Harry for so long, but it hasn't even been a year yet. I only realised because I was racking my brain trying to figure out what I did with him this time last year and couldn't recall."

"Old age," Severus deadpanned.

"Respect," he scolded before continuing. "As I was saying, I'm a bit concerned for the upcoming term. I'll hardly be around now – what if the child needs me?"

Severus rolled his eyes at that. "What am I, chopped liver?"

"Huh?"

"Potter will just spend the weekends with me whenever you are unavailable, and if it suits you, take him on the Wednesdays you are free to do so. It's no wonder that Fawkes was so annoyed. This isn't exactly a crisis you know."

"It isn't at all fair to you though," Albus pointed out.

Severus shot the man a perplexed look. "What do you mean?"

Albus shrugged but, after a quick glare from the man said, "You'll already be bogged down with seeing about these things since I'll be gone so much. Plus..."

"Plus?"

"Well..."

"Just spit it out, Albus," Severus demanded. "Must you always be so infuriating?"

"Must you always be so rough," he shot back. The potions master pointedly remained silent, and after a moment, Albus caved and continued. "Well...it's just that, Rosmerta's niece will be arriving soon and I thought you'd like to...well..."

The headmaster trailed off once again, not exactly sure how to finish that statement without giving voice to his hopes. He wasn't exactly sure how Severus would react to him bringing up that topic again, but he certainly had not expected Severus to pinch his nose bridge while sighing. "Did I ever say that I was going to go along with Rosmerta and Filius' shenanigans?"

"Well no..."

"Then why," he asked patiently, "would you concern yourself about a non-existent romance?"

"But, you weren't considering it? Not in the slightest?"

Severus sighed again. "Why is my personal life suddenly up for perusal?"

"I'm just concerned for you, Severus," Albus said mildly. "Filius and Rosmerta are as well."

"Why?"

"Do we need a reason to be?" he asked gently. "We want you to be happy, my boy."

"I am happy," he grated out. "Very happy."

"Oh but think how much happier you would-"

"You are not a matchmaker, old man," he snapped, rising abruptly to his feet. "Neither is Filius nor Rosmerta and I will be eternally grateful if you all do not meddle in my affairs. I do not need your pity."

"That's not at all what it is, and you know it!" Albus returned. "Where are you going?"

Severus stopped to throw him a backward glance. "I told you I had ten minutes to spare and we've gone way past that. Do not disturb me unless you have something important that needs my attention and feel free to tell that to the feather duster as well when he returns to you. Let him complain to Filius if he desires."

"Severus—" Albus began, but the man had already slammed the door shut behind him.

"Well that could have gone better," he mumbled, wondering if he should go after him.

He decided against it; if he went now they'd only end up fighting once again, and it was not something either of them needed. Besides that, Severus was right, they really were busy today. Their personal issues would have to wait until later. He hadn't even been able to take the opportunity to ask about the two Slytherins Harry had apparently befriended. He knew very little about them past their academic records and he wanted to change that. He supposed that he was being as cautious with these two as Severus had been with Mr. Longbottom and Miss Granger. He had snickered about the man's reservations at the time, but he understood it better now. He did not have anything against the Slytherin House – especially with Severus in charge of it. However, it would be very reassuring to know a bit more about the two as it seemed that Harry was quickly becoming enchanted with them. Indeed, having told the boy that morning that they would both be very busy and he would have more fun with Hagrid, Harry had smiled and stated that he would seek out Alistair and Emmaline. He had not even recognised their names at first; Severus had had to remind him of the two he had spent the previous day flying with for him to recall and after that there had not been much time to enquire after them.

He felt that his concern was justified. Even if their intentions were pure toward him, there was the potential backlash to be dealt with. After all, all these years later, friendships between these two particular houses were still rare. He and his staff had done their best to stamp out the animosity between Gryffindor and Slytherin, and, save a few altercations, the peace had been maintained. Indeed it was primarily those from the old families who seemed hell bent on continuing the feuds. However given the increasing number of half-bloods and muggleborns, Albus suspected that it would only be a matter of time before there simply was no one left to carry on the fighting. But that was still a good distance in the future, and right now he had the present, and, more importantly his youngest, to deal with.

How would Harry – how would they all fare if the friendship continued? Could they all band together against the disapproval of the wider student body? Would there even be disapproval or would no one care? Albus wished that last thought would be the case but he knew that the likelihood of that being the case was slim.

"Oh bother," Albus sighed, reaching for the document that he had been reading before Severus' abrupt arrival.

Sometimes he wished he had never let the world know exactly how Voldemort had been defeated. Life would have been a lot simpler for all of them that way.

*

"What is it?" Severus inquired, meeting Harry's contemplative gaze.

The boy nipped his lip for a moment, apparently deliberating on something before he spoke. "You should make up with him," he said finally, shooting a glance toward his bedroom where the headmaster was waiting to say a final goodnight.

Severus' brows arched slightly in surprise. He and the old man had been doing a fine job pretending that everything was fine between them – at least he had thought so. But then again, he thought, Potter was far too perceptive for his age; undoubtedly he had picked up on the bit of tension between the pair. Potter reached out, settling a hand over his arm.

"I don't like when you're like this. I don't like when you're angry and he's sad. Please make up with him."

"Tell that to the old man," he huffed, looking away from those green eyes. "It's not my fault."

"But you have to help make it right," Harry pressed, squeezing lightly. "Please, sir."

The potions master's resistance crumbled the moment he looked at the boy once again. That pleading tone coupled with those eyes that had always fascinated demolished whatever will to resist he had had. Sighing deeply, he briefly cupped and squeezed Potter's cheek. "You'll be the end of me," he grumbled, "but I will."

The broad smile that graced Potter's face chipped away at the residual anger he still felt toward the headmaster. "Go on now," he said gently. "It's past nine now; I won't have you sleepy tomorrow."

"We'll have a big breakfast?"

"With everyone's favourite foods," Severus agreed. "It'll be the perfect way to end the holidays."

"It will! Alistair and Emmaline asked if I could eat lunch with them tomorrow."

"I suppose Albus and I will survive without you."

"Only if you make up with each other," Harry said shrewdly, earning him a tweak on the nose.

"Off to bed now, brat."

"Okay."

Once Potter was out of sight, Severus rose, knowing that it would be a good few minutes before Albus returned. It would take even longer if Potter decided on giving him the same 'lecture'. He would use the time to clear up a bit of the mess in the office while he waited. He had just about finished arranging the last pile of parchments when he noticed the headmaster leaning in the doorway, observing him.

Severus pointedly ignored him until he finished his task. With nothing more to do, he leant against the desk, mimicking the man's pose. Despite Potter's edict, Severus was not going to speak first, and so just continued to stare until Albus caved under the pressure and said churlishly, "I just want you to be happy."

"Back to this are we?" he sighed, rubbing tiredly at the back of his neck. "Look, old man, my happiness does not depend on a witch. Did we not have this conversation already? I am content with my life as is."

"But you can have so much more, Severus," Albus pressed, an earnest edge creeping into his tone."Just think about it. I'm not saying you have to marry the witch, but won't it be nice to have someone to love and..."

Albus continued to talk for several more moments, painting a picture of a life Severus could possibly have. The longer he spoke, the more uncomfortable the potions master became, and finally, just when Albus reached the pinnacle of his speech, Severus' control snapped.

"I don't have a chance in hell of having such a life. How can I when I have one foot set in Azkaban?"

Severus' outburst startled the both of them. Albus stared at him with widened eyes while the potions master buried his face in his hands while taking a shuddering breath. Just where had that burst of emotion come from? The thought plagued him even as his mind sought the quickest escape route from the office. But Albus would not have it. He had barely finished the thought before he heard the distinct click indicating that the doors were being locked and a brush of magic that was undoubtedly silencing the room for Potter's sake.

"Let me out," he told him, straightening.

However, even to his own ears his voice lacked any authority; it was slightly shaky and laced with confusion. He could not even muster the energy to snarl at Albus when he shook his head, still eyeing him thoughtfully.

"That's the second time today you've yelled at me like this," he stated mildly.

"I won't apologise."

"Don't. I am not in any way offended. I am pleased actually – very pleased."

Severus could only stare at him blankly. Pleased? This from the man who usually needled and scolded for any behaviour he deemed inappropriate.

"You haven't yelled at me – truly yelled at me since the summer," Albus explained. "You are always honest in your anger. I will not let you leave now."

The potions master managed a derisive snort at that. "And you expect me to speak now that you've said that. Let's not play the mind-healer game tonight hmm? Let me go."

"This isn't a game, Severus. Now tell me, what on earth do you mean by Azkaban? What does that have to do with anything?"

"It has everything to do with it!" Severus snapped, before tightly pinching the bridge his nose in a valiant attempt to calm down. Did Albus have to press him on these matters today of all days?

"What happens today?"

"Stay out of my mind!"

"You are projecting your thoughts," Albus replied in that same mild tone. "Shall I have Misty bring you a Calming Potion?"

"No. I want to be let out of here."

"And I said that I will not let you go. I am worried now, my boy. You're not yourself today. Where is this anger coming from? And you have yet to answer my previous question. What is this about Azkab...oh."

Severus cursed as a look of understanding dawned on Albus' face. He could not deal with this.

"Oh Severus," he breathed. "You poor boy."

"I-I don't want to hear this, Albus."

"You have nothing to be afraid of, Severus," he told him gently. "You are safe here with me. No one will take you away. I will not let them."

Severus refused to meet the man's gaze, wrapping his arms around himself as he widened the distance between them, moving to the window and staring out of it. In the reflection of the window he saw the headmaster moving to his desk and rummaging for something. He ignored him, looking out into the darkness even as he scrambled to get himself back under control. He would have been fine if it wasn't for the old man, he thought darkly. None of this would have happened if Albus had not pressed him on the issue of Rosmerta's niece that morning. If Albus had not done that then he would not have made that initial slip. If none of that had happened, he would be safely locked in his room right about now, palming a vial of Dreamless Sleep potion.

Leaning forward, he pressed his forehead against the cool glass, fighting and failing to keep the memories suppressed of that night...the abrupt shattering of the silence that had surrounded him...the shouts of the aurors...the numerous wands pointed at him...the feeling of betrayal...the tight press of the restraints on him...the dankness of a cell...and then the Dementors. He flinched as a hand settled on his shoulder, and he spun around, ready to yell once again. Albus' gaze stopped him though. There was sadness in his eyes but also a deeper unreadable emotion in them. He held a vial out to him. "Drink it," he said, in a tone that left no room for refusal. Severus glared at the slight tremor in his hands, and wrapped them around himself as soon as he could once again.

Albus banished the now empty vial, but his eyes never left the younger wizard before him. "I have failed you. Why else would you have so little faith in me now?"

"I don't know what you mean," he said evasively, noting that his voice was a bit firmer now thanks to the potion.

"You do not trust me do you, Severus?"

"I don't trust easily, old man, you know that."

"Yes I do. But until now I had believed that you had some faith in me. Apparently that isn't the case."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Are you being deliberately obtuse?"

Severus glared at him for that remark but refused to comment.

"Fine then," the headmaster decided. "I will speak and you will listen. Severus Snape, you are mine. I failed you as a student, but I've been doing my best to make that up to you ever since. You are my son. No. Look at me, Severus. You are my son in every way that matters and I will not let you go. I did not betray you that night. Had I known that the Ministry planned to arrest you I would have intervened. I did not break my promise to you. When it became clear that I could not stop you from being persecuted despite your role, I did the next best thing and had you assigned to me. I never planned on that being a temporary thing either, Severus. I will not wake up a morning and decide that I do not want you with me any longer and have you shipped to Azkaban for the remainder of the time.

"I knew what I was getting into when I made you my ward and while it has been difficult at times, I have never once regretted it. Are you convinced now, Severus? I will not let you go. I will never let you go. You need not be afraid. You will always have a home with me. And so there is no need to delay your life. I think that was your concern? That you cannot create any attachments because you thought I would send you back? Banish the thought, my boy. You are free to live your life as you will. Surely you've realised that I do not enforce any of those silly stipulations that I am supposed to? You are, for all intents and purposes, a free man, Severus, and I wish that you would act that way."

Severus said nothing for long moments after the man's voice trailed off, simply because he had no idea what to say. What was there to say? The man's words contradicted everything he had believed in when it came to their relationship and to be bombarded with it now of all times, on the 'anniversary' of his arrest all those years ago...he was confused. And standing here before the source of his confusion was not helping him in the slightest. He needed some space to deal with this. Albus had seen already been privy to too much of his thoughts for the night. He did not want him to hear any more of it, and, at the moment, his control on his Occlumency was far from perfect. But would the old man understand that?

The answer came in the form of the door clicking once again. His eyes widened minutely as he looked from it back to Albus who now had a small smile on his lips even though the look in his eyes remained unchanged.

"I won't keep you any longer," he told him gently, patting his arm before stepping away. "But please, Severus, take heed of what I have said. It is the truth. You are safe with me, please believe that."

"I may be starting too," the potions master muttered. "I- Good night, Albus," he said in a louder voice, meeting his gaze momentarily before moving swiftly toward the door.

"Good night."

*

"We actually heard something!" Harry said with a gleeful laugh as he and Hermione ran back into Hagrid's hut clutching a mirror.

"It was only for a few seconds though," Hermione added. "Who sneezed?"

"That'll be me," Alistair said ruefully, rubbing at his nose. "I'm starting to think I'm allergic to something inside of here."

"Forget that, how clear was the sound?"

"Crystal," Harry responded, "you scared Fang."

"Overgrown coward," he snorted, glancing toward the dog that was now entering the cabin at a leisurely pace.

"Did you make a note of that, Luna?"

"She did," Neville answered after a moment. Luna's attention had already drifted from the conversation at hand and she was now on her hands and knees inspecting a pile of firewood in the kitchen area.

"There might actually be something there, you know," Alistair said, following his gaze, "and I do not mean a Snargle."

"Snargles don't come out during winter," Luna responded dreamily. "I'm looking for a baby humperdink. It may have been sleeping in the tree when Hagrid cut it down."

"I don't think I will ever get used to this," the Slytherin admitted, drawing snickers from the others in the room.

"She grows on you," Hermione chuckled. "So we've managed to establish communication."

"Only for a bit."

"And it's still one-sided," Harry added, picking up the second mirror. "You didn't hear anything we said right?"

"No," Emmaline agreed.

"That's still progress," Alistair declared, stretching his arms above him.

"I wonder what we're doing wrong?" Hermione asked, furrowing her brows. "That combination of charms should have worked. Professor Flitwick said so."

"They did work," Harry corrected, drawing all eyes, save Luna's, to him. "We used two different combinations of charms remember? And they both worked...for different things. The mirror we had allowed us to hear them but not to speak. And the one they had allowed them to speak but not hear. So we just need to figure out which spells did what, add them to different mirrors and see if that works."

"We'll need more mirrors to experiment on then," Alistair said. "And we didn't bring any extra ones down with us."

"That's okay," Harry shrugged. "We should show Professor Flitwick the progress we've made so far. He may have an idea about how to fix this."

"And what do you think caused us to hear for only a few seconds, Harry?" Hermione pressed.

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "Neville, remember what we were reading on Thursday? Do you think that matters here?"

"Maybe?" he responded hesitantly. "The book did say that some objects needed reinforcements if they were to be used as spell receptacles."

"Where was I?" Hermione frowned.

"This was after Professor Sinistra made you go spend time with Lavender and Parvati."

A grimace formed on the girl's face that drew laughter from the other two Gryffindors.

"Your head of house is still on that unity thing?" Emmaline asked.

"Unfortunately," Neville said with an eye roll. "I don't know why she doesn't just give up. It's not going to happen."

"There aren't any humperdinks...but I think I've found some fiddlefly eggs. I'll take this with me."

"She has to be making this up," Alistair said, watching with disbelief as Luna picked up a piece of fire wood, hugging it to her chest as she returned to where they were all seated.

"Welcome to Lunaverse," Hermione deadpanned. "It's only ten. We can go show Professor Flitwick this and then check the library for some more things."

"I swear she's more excited than you at times, Harry," Neville said.

"Hey, at least you guys have owls. If we can get this to work by July, we'll be able to talk to each other whenever we want."

Harry agreed with her on that point. Having an instantaneous way of communication would be excellent. Letters were fine and all, but the delay in responses was a problem. Fire-calling did not appeal to him at all, even though he knew instinctively that the flames would not hurt him. If he could create an alternative to sticking his head into a fireplace, he would do it. Plus, there was also the fact that Hermione's parents were reluctant to have their home connected to the floo network to contend with. The idea he had come up with over the holidays truly was their best option. They simply had to make it work before they were separated for the summer.

"Shall we go then?"

"Hagrid isn't back yet," Alistair protested. "He said that he would have something wicked to show us when he got back."

"We can come back after lunch," Emmaline said, tugging him to his feet. "What is it with you and creatures anyway?"

"They're awesome. You guys really should take Care of the Magical Creatures in September," he encouraged, not for the first time.

"We're considering it," Neville promised. "The only thing we've crossed out so far is Divination, and, well, Muggle Studies for those two."

They had consulted with Percy on the matter earlier in the month. He had seemed very pleased that they had come to him and had provided them with a lot of useful information, even if he did stray off the topic occasionally. They had taken his advice to heart, and so had decided against attending the classes for Muggle Studies but would still sit the examination for it in their fifth year. It had only taken a look at the OWL practice test Percy had dug out to cement that decision. As Hermione had wryly stated, an eight year old muggle could pass the test without much effort. Neville was still a bit indecisive though. He was curious enough about the muggle world, but did he really want to learn about it in detail, especially if his friends were not in the class with him? Although they had never really talked about it, none of them really wanted to have a class without each other in it. If he took Muggle Studies, he would be alone in the class, but he wasn't really sure if Arithmancy or Ancient Runes suited him. He knew though that his friends were leaning towards that option so he'd have to decide soon what was more important to him, his friends' company, or a subject that he had a better chance of doing excellent in. Neville shook his head to rid himself of the thoughts. They still had a few weeks before their choices were due. There was no need for him to worry about it now.

"Let's go then," Hermione bid, leading the way out the hut.

Harry tightened his robes around him as they walked. It was early February now, and spring was on the horizon, but the wind was still cold enough to cause a shudder or two, especially after the warmth of Hagrid's cabin. They had only journeyed a short way into the castle before they encountered the very thing that had them seeking out Hagrid's home as a refuge in the first place. They passed a pair of older Slytherins who openly glared at Emmaline and Alistair. The young witch squared her shoulders but otherwise ignored them, but her cousin glared right back at them until they looked away.

"Really, everyone else has gotten used to it," Hermione huffed, noticing the exchange.

"Things run differently in Slytherin, Hermione," Emmaline told her softly, "you should know that by now."

"You haven't gotten in anymore trouble, right, Al?" Neville inquired.

"Not this week," he retorted darkly.

Harry sighed at that, although he no longer felt guilt at the stress their friends endured. At first he had blamed himself, thinking that if the pair ignored him, their housemates would stop bothering them. Of course the Slytherins who disapproved of their interactions were smart enough to do so within the confines of the House quarters, but it still had hurt to know that the cousins were not entirely welcomed in their own House. It reminded him too much of his first term as a student in the school. However, the pair had been quick to reassure him, reminding him that they hadn't been welcomed from the start – Alistair for defending his cousin and Emmaline for being the daughter of a squib. Professor Snape did his best to assist where he could, but there was only so much the man could do for them. As time passed and interest waned in their friendship the amount of persons voicing disapproval lessened, but there was still a few who openly expressed their views, and Alistair was not the type of person to sit idly by and let himself or his cousin be insulted.

"Forget about them," Emmaline bid, "Let's find the Professor."

*

A while later the group of students left Professor Flitwick's office, embolden by his encouraging words to them.

"We'll have to talk to Professor Babbling about rune stones," Hermione stated, drumming her fingers against her cheek.

"Patience, Hermione," Alistair responded. "We've got a long way to go before we get to that point. Let's try getting the mirrors to work before we try to make the enchantments permanent."

"She's just eager to learn something new," Neville teased, before dodging the tap the witch sent his way.

"Our nerd," Emmaline cooed, wrapping her arm around Hermione's shoulders and grinning goodnaturedly at her.

"You're all a bunch of nerds," a derisive voice stated. Distracted by the new voice, the group looked further up the hall to see Ron Weasley and Dean Thomas approaching them, sneers on their faces.

"What did you say?" Alistair demanded, pushing to the front of the group.

Harry took an instinctive step back in the face of his friend's anger, relaxing when Neville grasped his shoulder. The blond had become good at gauging his moods over the last few months, something that Harry was grateful for. For all that Alistair was a good friend to them, they were all aware of the fact that he had a temper. It was something that frightened Harry, but Neville was always quick to reassure him that all was well.

"You heard him," Thomas said.

"Just ignore them," Hermione told the Slytherin. "That's what we do."

"Shut up, Granger," he demanded. "I can't believe you've resorted to being friends with Slytherins. Not to mention you, Potter!"

"Leave Harry alone!" Neville snapped, tightening his grip on him.

"Just how much of a coward are you, Potter?" Ron sneered. "Can't you ever speak for yourself or must you always rely on Ladbottom?"

"D-don't call him that," Harry protested.

"I'll call him whatever I want," came the sharp retort. "He's a Ladbottom, you're a coward and Granger's just a nerd."

"I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be loyal!"

"Shut up you snake," Thomas snapped, looking toward Emmaline. "They're no Gryffindors. They wouldn't be hanging around the likes of you if they were."

"It's bad enough you chose them and Loony Lovegood," Ron continued, shooting Harry's friends a dismissive look, "but now you're traipsing around the castle with those two Slytherins. You're a disgrace!"

"That's it," Alistair snarled, angered by the way the three younger students flinched at his words.

"D-don't, Al!" Neville warned, as he saw the third year reach for his wand. "You'll get in trouble."

"Doesn't matter," he returned shortly. "Those two need to learn a lesson."

"Just try it!" Ron shot, whipping out his own wand. "Stay away from Gryffindor you slimy snakes!"

"Ronald Weasley!"

They all froze at the new voice. Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he saw Percy hurrying down the corridor, the Ravenclaw prefect he was always hung around following closely behind.

"P-Percy," the younger Weasley stammered, paling considerably even as he hurriedly lowered his wand. Emmaline moved to her cousin's side, taking a tight hold on his hand before whispering something to him. After a moment, the tension visibly faded from his frame and he offered the witch a faint smile.

"Just what is wrong with you?" he scolded.

"It's their fault!"

"No it isn't," Emmaline protested, even as Percy shot his brother a dark look.

"I heard you, Ronald," he said sternly, "and I saw you draw your wand. You should be ashamed of yourself."

"Why are you badgering me? They're the ones hanging out with those snakes!"

"Ronald."

"You always side with them," the second year ground out, seemingly forgetting about the rest of them standing there. "You always choose them over me. I wasn't doing anything wrong. They were the ones hanging out with the sn-Slytherins. It isn't right!"

"And who are you to judge that?"

"Are you okay?" the Ravenclaw asked, coming to them.

Her gentle tone distracted them from the argument between the two siblings. They all responded in the positive.

"Are we in trouble?" Hermione asked, looking up at her.

"No," she responded, looking back briefly. "From what we saw, those two are at fault. It's a good thing you didn't actually draw your wand though," she added, shooting Alistair a pointed look, "or else we'd be dealing with a much different situation."

"It would have been worth it," he grumbled.

"I'll pretend that I did not hear that."

"But Percy!"

Ron's raised voice drew all of their attention back to the brothers. "Um...why don't you go on your way now?" the prefect invited. "This may take a while and there's no reason for you to stay anymore."

"You're sure?" Hermione pressed.

"Positive."

Content with the girl's reassurance, they moved on, hurrying for the safety the library provided.

*

"Go to bed," Severus said bluntly, startling the dozing Astronomy Professor.

The woman jumped at his voice, before glaring at him once she took stock of her surroundings. "Really Severus," she chided sleepily, "could you not have let me sleep?"

"You have quarters to do that in," he grumbled, settling in a seat near her. "The staff babies you too much," he continued, gesturing to the transfigured recliner she was on.

The witch smirked at him. "You act as if you do not suffer the same," she said with a snort, pointing to the tea tray before him.

"Pomona," he admitted, with a small sigh. "I am too skinny apparently."

"It comes with the territory," she commiserated, reaching out to snag a scone. "We're the youngest on staff and past students."

"Has Filius ever threatened you with detention?"

"Many, many times," she laughed, "especially when I stay up the entire night. Sometimes I think he's only half-kidding..."

"I wouldn't put it past him to try," Severus admitted, glancing to where the other two Head of Houses were seated on the other side of the staff room. He rolled his eyes slightly when the pair hurriedly averted their gaze, pretending that they were not looking their way.

"They're talking about you," she supplied, unnecessarily.

"What about?" Severus glanced at them again before making a mental note to hex the old man at the very first opportunity. Busy as he was now, the headmaster had enlisted his closest friends to keep an eye on his eldest and ensure that he was taking care of himself. They were taking the task quite seriously, much to his annoyance.

"Your sociable behaviour," she told him, snagging a next pastry.

"Get your own," he scolded, without heat, "and I am not social."

The witch arched an eyebrow at him, silently pointing out that he was seated here with her, having an idle conversation. "You've changed," she said casually, careful to keep any curiosity out of her tone. The easiest way to push the man away was to seem deeply interested in his personal state. "They're curious as to the cause. It's a gradual thing yes, but surely even you can acknowledge it."

The potions master was quiet for a long moment, before saying, "I'm surprised he has not put the blame on Marie."

"Rosemerta's niece?"

"I know you know who she is," he frowned. "Filius couldn't wait to spread the word around when I met her that first time."

"You can't blame him," she said mildly.

"I know," he grumbled. "He just wants me to be happy."

Sinistra ignored the derision in that last line. "He was so disappointed that nothing came of it."

"It's his fault for not checking to see if the witch was single before he started playing matchmaker," he shot back, although his lips quirked in amusement.

He had only gone to Rosemerta's pub that first time to please Albus. Things had changed after that night. Severus found himself increasingly amiable toward the headmaster and resultantly he was considerably more indulgent towards him. It had not stopped him from being his usual gruff self when he had been introduced to the witch, but to his surprise, she had seemed equally standoffish. The minute Rosemerta had left them alone after ushering them to a corner table, Marie had bluntly informed him that she wanted nothing at all to do with him. She was only enduring this one meeting for the sake of her aunt. She had a boyfriend in France, but, for personal reasons, had yet to introduce him to the family. Of course, that had been perfectly fine with him, and, once their intentions to each other had been made clear, they had settled down to a pleasant dinner. Nearly three months later, they were good friends, with the potions master escaping down to Hogsmeade at least once a week for a break from the chaos that was his job now that Albus was absent so much.

"Yes, he should have," she admitted. "But you have them curious now. If Marie is not responsible for the mellowing of Severus Snape, then what is?"

"What are their current suspicions?"

"Why, Severus, are you asking me to play spy?"

"Well, since you've already stolen at least half of my tea things, it's the least you can do."

"Your argument is convincing. Pomona believes that it's a combination of your post as deputy and Harry. The extra responsibilities have forced you out of the dungeons, and resultantly you're a lot more accommodating."

"And Filius?"

"Filius believes that Harry is the core reason behind it. You've really taken a shine to him after all."

Severus' lips quirked at that, but he did not offer comment either way.

"Speaking of Harry," Sinistra said after a moment, "is he okay? I've already had a chance to speak to Hermione and Neville about what happened, but I didn't want to take Harry away from you."

"The child is fine," he reassured. "I left him playing with Fawkes in the office."

The witch breathed a sigh of relief, although the concerned expression remained fixed. "It seems as if my meddling has only made matters worse. If I hadn't..."

"You did what you thought was best to encourage house unity," Severus interrupted. "Do not blame yourself for that. It's not your fault the dunderheads see friendship as a competition."

"I should have left well enough alone. At least then they would not be at each other throats like this."

"That's what you get for caring about the dunderheads beyond their grades."

"Are you including Harry in this?"

"Mr. Potter is my dunderhead," he responded. "He's a cut above the rest."

"How...endearing."

"What did you do to them anyway? Weasley and Thomas I mean."

"Ronald has detention for three days, Dean for one. Although, from the looks Percy Weasley was shooting his brother when he brought them to me, I think that Ronald will face further repercussions. I'll meet with all the second years on Monday to officially end this. I won't try to force camaraderie upon them anymore."

"It is not the end of the world," Severus sighed, taking note of the woman's melancholy tone. "What you attempted was...admirable. They're just too different to be more than classmates. Surely you can see that?"

"That's partly why I wanted them to bond," she said, biting into a next biscuit. "They'd have done well together. Ronald, Dean and Seamus could use some organisational skills and Neville and Harry need to loosen up a little bit. They're twelve, Severus, and have never gotten into a single bit of mischief. It isn't right."

"You want unruly brats?"

"You know what I mean," she shot back. "Fun for them is experimenting with Filius after class. I'd love to see them having a good romp in the mud with the other lads. Miss Granger doesn't interact with the other witches at all. It's actually a relief to see her with the two first years, but still, that doesn't leave her with anyone near her age to discuss...things. Why are you looking at me like that?" she finished exasperatedly.

"You really do care, don't you?" he said, eyeing her closely.

"I do," she replied sincerely.

"And as a result of that you're causing yourself grief," he deadpanned, smirking at the woman's expression.

"Severus!"

"If you did like me, Sinistra, and just threaten the brats every now and again, you'd have a much easier time. Now, if you would excuse me, I think it's time for me to leave."

"Why?"she inquired, surprised by the sudden dismissal.

"Filius has been eyeing us since the start of our conversation. I think I better remove myself before he decides to play matchmaker again."

Sinistra discreetly glanced toward where the wizard was, and found herself agreeing with the potions master's summation. That glint in the Charms Professor's eyes was a bit disconcerting. "I see what you mean."

"Exactly. So if you would excuse me?"

"Go on," she said, waving him away, "you're disturbing my beauty sleep anyway."

"Find a real bed," he bid rising.

"Eventually."

While the potions master made his way out of the staff room, Astoria settled back down on the recliner, pulling the quilt a bit higher over her. It really had been interesting talking to him like that she decided, closing her eyes. They'd have to do it again sometime, hopefully without the prying eyes of their former professors observing them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So at some point while writing this story, I confused Sinistra's names. In some chapters you will see her canon name, and in others Astoria/Aurora (I really cannot recall which is canon right now). It was something I meant to correct before posting it here, and it seems like I forgot to again, so I'll just apologise for any confusion it may cause.


	46. Chapter 46

"What else do I have to do," he mused allowed, reaching for the list he had drawn up over breakfast.

A moment later, he groaned and flopped back down into his chair. Another floo call was scheduled, this time with the most irritating of all the governors. "I don't want to," he grumbled, not caring that it was a childish thing to say. He was tired of all of this. He hadn't had a moment for himself recently, and he was certain that a layer of dust was covering his potions laboratory. More than that, today was a Saturday, and for the third weekend in a row, he had had to send Potter off to spend the day with his friends rather than leave him to spend the day mostly keeping his own company. But currently, as he stared morosely at the fireplace, Severus wished that the child would make a rare impromptu visit. It had been too long since they'd spent time together without homework or administrative duties getting in the way. The more he dwelt on that last thought, the more irritated Severus became, until finally, he rose from the desk and went into the living quarters. He closed the door with a bit more force than necessary, pausing when he heard an irritable trill.

"Drumstick?" Severus was surprised to see the phoenix on its perch, looking considerably worse for wear. "What on earth are you doing here?"

Fawkes did not deign to respond, instead giving Severus a pointed look before pushing his head forward. Acceding to the silent request, Severus moved over and gently stroked the phoenix. "You really must be getting on in age if you want me of all people to pet you," he commented, before snickering softly when Fawkes pecked his hand once before thrusting it back against his palm. "But really, why are you here? You've been leaving the castle with Albus ever since your feathers started to dull. I still don't agree with you two and your little collusion against Harry. If the child responds badly to your burning day I swear I will make both of your lives a living hell.

"He's with his friends if you're wondering, but then again, I'm certain you knew he was not in the vicinity or else you would not have flashed here, hmm? Even he seems to be enjoying the idea of surprising people lately. He's yet to admit what that project he and his little friends are working on is, and Filius won't tell me either. Hmm, and from the way you're looking at me, I'm certain that you know what he's working on as well. Does the old man know? He doesn't. Well that's good then. I'm glad I'm not the only one being kept in the dark."

After a next minute or so of petting, Severus pulled back, ignoring the irritated look Fawkes shot him. "I came here for a reason you know," he told him as he walked toward the rack where his outdoor robe was stored. "I'm taking a break from all this work, lest I lose my temper with someone. Plus, I'm in the mood for some of Rosmerta's pie. All right, I'll bring you something," he added, after Fawkes gave a soft, but excited thrill. "It's a Hogsmeade day as well, so no one will find it that strange to see me with a student, so I'll take Harry along with me. Oh, don't look at me so. I'm his guardian. Second year or not I can take him with me if I want to and I will."

With that decisive statement, Severus stalked out of the quarters, heading down the stairs to the deputy office where Filius was going through the records of detentions for the month.

"Going somewhere, Severus?" the Charms Professor asked, taking in his robe.

Severus nodded. "I'm going to Rosmerta's for lunch."

"Finished all of the calls already then?"

He resisted the urge to fidget at the man's question. It really was hard at times to remember that he was the man's equal and not his student anymore. "No," he said shortly, not quite meeting his gaze.

Filius eyed him for a moment before breaking out into laughter. "Which governor are you avoiding now?"

"Trent. The man insists on talking about every last one of his grandchildren."

"He's just being a doting granddad. Regardless, you go on ahead, and enjoy your lunch. I'll take care of that call if you want. I'm just about done here anyway."

"Thank you," Severus responded, relief evident in his tone. "Would you like something from Rosmerta's?"

"If she's made pumpkin pie today, bring me a slice...or two."

"I'll bring you an entire pie if you can stop Trent from calling for two weeks."

"Throw in a brownie and I'll see what I can do about the stories as well."

"Deal."

*

"Is this okay?" Harry asked, holding a mirror toward Alistair.

"Hmm? Let me see," he replied, reaching over the desk to take it from him. He fingered the rune Harry had just put into its groove carefully before nodding. "Yeah, this is fine. As long as you remember to have the dots pointing to the left the rune should activate."

"Why won't it work if I put it in a next way?" he inquired curiously.

"Well, remember the carving I made in the hole? The markings on the rune have to match those grooves precisely or else the magic of the charms on the mirror won't connect to the ones on the rune. It can't activate if that's the case."

"I think I get that."

"Good," he grinned, "cuz that's all I know about it. The first year of Ancient Runes doesn't really go into the theory stuff behind the magic."

"That's okay. You sound like you know your stuff really well. That's your first exam right?"

"Unfortunately," he grimaced. "All of my hard subjects are early on this term. I'm actually glad now that Hermione forced that study schedule on me or else I'd be in a mess this week."

"Hermione loves to be organised."

"And she despises anyone who dares disrupt her organisational efforts," he returned, causing them to snicker.

Currently, the witch in question was in the library with the rest of their friends, forcing them to study since they had all but ignored the detailed schedule she had given out two weeks prior. Sometimes it seemed to Harry that the school year was just flying by. Given the numerous activities he had to do on a daily basis, in addition to spending time with his friends and (when they were available) his family, the days seemed to blend into each other. He honestly had not realised how close to the end of the school year it was until Hermione had started to talk about exams. It had been a shock to him, both for the fact that the vacation was soon approaching, but more so because they had had a good bit of work left to finish on the mirrors. With only a month or so to go before the summer vacation started, every spare moment not spent studying was poured into completing their projects.

They had finally reached a breakthrough when Percy, after inquiring about their morose expressions after a particularly fruitless experimentation session, had offered his assistance. Within a week, he had figured out the best way to integrate the necessary runes to boost the longevity of the mirror. Sourcing the runes from Professor Babbling had taken another week or so, but with Professor Flitwick vouching for them, the witch had created the handful of runes they now possessed. She had offered to do the carvings in the mirror handles as well, but they had politely refused. They were already somewhat disappointed that they were too young to be able to carve the runes out themselves; the least they could do was create the holes for it. She had requested that they bring the mirrors for her to check the accuracy of their work, and, after she had approved it that morning, Harry and Alistair had arrived, to the empty classroom, to put the finishing touches on it.

"So how many do we have left to do now?" Alistair asked.

"Umm, we've finished Neville, Hermione and Emmaline's mirrors, so that leaves yours and mine. Professor Babbling made us a few extra ones just in case."

"Hmm. We can probably make a few extra mirrors then...especially for Neville and Luna."

Harry cocked his head slightly. "We already have an extra unbreakable charm on Neville's. And why should Luna get a spare?"

Alistair snorted. "The extra mirror is for when Neville loses the first one, and I'm sure that Luna will trade her mirror to some humperdink or something before the first week of vacation is out."

Harry could not help but nod at that summation. It was pretty accurate afterall. "You really don't believe in those creatures Luna sees?"

"I don't know what to think honestly," he admitted. "At times it seems just...unbelievable, you know. I mean, come on, she still has that log from Hagrid's cabin."

"The eggs haven't hatched yet."

The Slytherin shot him a mild glare before continuing speaking. "Things like that I can't believe at all. But then...at other times, she's right, scarily so. Remember last week when she told us that the Snargles said that we should take the long route to the library and then later we heard that Peeves and the Weasley twins had gotten into a prank war there? And how does she always know where her things are?"

"The Ravenclaws are hiding them again?"

"It happened on a Wednesday I think, and Neville spoke to Professor Flitwick about it again."

"I wish they'd just leave her alone," Harry sighed. "But yeah, I admit that sometimes Luna is a bit...much. But you have to admit she's fun to be around."

"Very."

The boys went back to work on the mirrors after that, but Harry had barely managed to secure a rune in the fourth mirror before someone knocked at the door briefly before opening it.

"Sir?" Harry gasped, looking toward the door. Beside him, Alistair scrambled to his feet, issuing a greeting.

"What are you doing?" he asked, looking past them at the mirrors on the table.

"Don't look!" Harry demanded, moving so that he was in front the table.

"Really child," Severus smirked, "you're hardly blocking anything from view."

"Sir," he whined.

"Fine, fine," he said, pocketing the wand Harry only now noticed was in his hand, "I'll pretend I did not see you two preening over mirrors."

"We weren't –" Alistair started, only to stop at the dismissive wave the potions master gave him.

"I promised I wouldn't pry into whatever little project you all are working on, and I won't. I came to get you," he said, turning toward Harry. "How does lunch at Rosmerta's sound?"

"Don't you have work to do?" Harry asked hesitantly, trying not to let his sudden excitement show.

"No, I do not. So, do you want to come?"

"I- I do," Harry nodded, "but I don't want to leave Alistair alone."

"That's okay, Harry," he smiled, "I don't mind."

"It's a Hogsmeade day, St. Clair," Professor Snape pointed out, turning to Alistair, "and unless my memory has suddenly failed me, I remember collecting a permission slip from you. You may join us if you wish."

The third year's eyes widened at that, and even Harry was a bit surprised that the potions master would offer to bring him along with them.

"If you don't mind, sir?"

"I would not have asked if I did not mean it. Now come on. Pack up your make up things and we'll be on our way."

"Yes, sir!"

They quickly packed up the things, Harry glancing at the man more than once to ensure that he really was not trying to sneak a look at their project before coming over to him. "We're ready," he said unnecessarily.

"Not quite," Professor Snape countered. "You'll not be dragging your bags along with you. I'll shrink them and you'll keep them in your pockets until we return."

"Are you going to glamour me?" Harry asked a moment later.

"You've done quite a bit of that yourself," he deadpanned, before chuckling lightly at the affronted look the boy gave him.

"You know what I mean."

"I do," he said, easing off on the teasing a bit, if only because Alistair was looking at him with disbelieving eyes, not quite believing that his stern head of house could ever be so relaxed. "I won't glamour you. There are more than enough dunderheads around that no one will single you out. Well, Rosmerta will of course, but that's only to be expected." The Professor went silent for a moment before asking, "Potter, why on earth are you wearing a Ravenclaw tie?"

Alistair guffawed at that, while Harry reached up to finger it. "Luna gave it to me." The man's eyebrows rose, and for a moment, Harry swore that he saw a panicked expression cross his face before it cleared.

"And why did Miss Lovegood grace you with her tie?" he inquired, his voice slightly strained.

Harry shrugged. "The Snargles said that I needed it more than she did."

Alistair snorted before adding, "You're leaving out the part where she hugged you."

"A-Alistair!" he squeaked.

"You never did say what she whispered in your ear, Harry," he continued on mercilessly, pausing only when the potions master cleared his throat loudly.

"That's more than enough of this," he declared, in that same odd tone. "Potter, you'll return that tie to Miss Lovegood once we return, understood?"

"But Professor," Alistair protested merrily. "That goes against the rules."

"Rules?" Harry inquired, perplexed.

"Nothing," Professor Snape stated, glaring at his student for a moment before turning back to Harry. "Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Harry agreed, before releasing the tie with a last pat.

He was aware that he was missing something from the conversation, but that was fine. He was sure one or the other would explain it to him later if he asked.

*

"Five more minutes, boys," Severus called determinedly, allowing his voice to carry along the wind, since neither of his charges were currently in sight.

He heard a discontented sound that he put down to St. Clair seconds before Potter's voice drifted back to him, saying, "Yes, sir."

The disappointment in the boy's tone was clear, and briefly, Severus regretted putting an early end to their amusement. There was no real reason for them to leave after all. The decision to take the pair to lunch had expanded into an afternoon of fun after he had realised that St. Clair had never really gotten the opportunity to explore the village. His first time had ended quite abruptly and disastrously after he had gotten into a tussle with a few year-mates hell bent on insulting his cousin. There was also the fact that Potter had only ever explored Hogsmeade with him by his side; to do so with a friend would undoubtedly give him a new perspective on the place. And so, once they had been over-fed by Rosmerta, and Severus' pockets laden with treats for Filius to assuage any annoyance he might feel at the extra hours he would have to endure in the office, Severus followed along a safe distance behind the pair as they darted in and out of establishments.

Eventually they had sought him out, and it had only taken him a single glance at the way Potter was nipping on his lip to know that there was something they wanted. And when those green eyes pleadingly met his, the potions master was helpless to refuse. Resultantly, they were up here, at the most haunted place in magical Britain. Severus snorted at that; he could not believe that the rumours about the place still existed so many years after the fact. After all, it was not as if there was a werewolf masquerading as a student in the school to make those ear piercing shrieks that had given the area its name. Nevertheless, the allure of the supernatural remained, and so, he wandered about the area absentmindedly while St. Clair and Potter scampered about the place, in search of the supernatural.

He had been perfectly content to let them remain up there as long as they desired. The number of dunderheads scampering about the village had made the place considerably nosier than usual, and so, the quiet of the hill was a welcomed reprieve from the hustle and bustle of the village below. Nevertheless, as the minutes slowly ticked by, Severus had found himself growing slowly, but steadily agitated. He had dismissed the feelings at first, while scolding himself for allowing his past to cast a shadow over an area, he knew was harmless. And, when the feeling refused to abate, he had put that down to the fact that Potter and his friend were now tiptoeing to catch a peek inside the shack. It had taken him weeks to shake the image of Lupin's yellow gaze peering outwards from within the confines of the room. It was understandable that he was still a bit unnerved by the place.

To stave off those feelings, he had turned away from the shack entirely, trusting Potter's inherently cautious nature to stop them from doing anything dangerous, and started walking around the area's perimeter. The general surroundings seemed as grim and run down as the shack itself, and, when his hand brushed against a tree bark, he felt a small but noticeable increase in the sense of unease he was experiencing. It was definitely magic at work, he decided, releasing the tree and moving on, wondering idly if Albus had a hand in it. The more he considered it, the more plausible it seemed that someone (probably Albus) had placed a mild yet long lasting repulsing charm on the area. It made sense that he would have had to safeguard the place against curious persons – especially during the years of Lupin's tenure at the school. If he was correct, the charm worked similar to the muggle-repelling ones, filling anyone in close proximity to the shack with an increasing sense of unease until they left the area. It would explain why the rumours persisted so long and the fact that, usually, persons explored the area for only minutes at a time.

And yet, he noted grimly, Potter and St. Clair seemed perfectly at ease in the area, while he himself was steadily finding his desire to leave the place increasing. Was it that their natural curiosity for the place was negating the effects of the charm, or was it something else entirely, he wondered. Regardless, he certainly had enough of the place, and so had issued the directive. They would get over their disappointment, and if they seemed particularly morose, he would allow a second trip back to the sweet shop before they returned to the castle.

He stood near the pathway leading up the place, staring down at the village while he waited for the remaining time to elapse. The streets had cleared a bit while they were up there, he noted. But then again, the sky was slowly becoming overcast with dark grey clouds. The more sensible of the dunderheads would have started heading back to the school before the deluge caught them. They would be smart to do the same.

"Boys," he called again, once the five minutes had passed. "Come on; we need to leave."

This time though, there was no response, and, after he called out to them twice more without an answer, he reluctantly turned to go fetch the pair himself. The Shrieking Shack was located on top of one of the gently undulating hills that surrounded the village. The pathway ended a bit lower down the slope and so, from his position, Severus could only catch a glimpse of the shack's rundown roof. He was certain that he was well within earshot of the boys. Thus, as he walked back up to where they were, he prepared himself to deliver a stern lecture on the importance of obedience.

The words that were hot on his lips to deliver died abruptly when he reached the top of the hill and he caught sight of St. Clair lying in a heap on the ground.

Potter was nowhere to be seen.

Drawing his wand instinctively, Severus ran to where his student lay, releasing his constraints on his legilimency simultaneously, allowing it to seek out any sentient mind in the general vicinity. There was no obvious sign of injury on the Slytherin, and a quick diagnosis revealed that there was nothing more than a stunning charm on him. Severus' alarm increased exponentially at that realisation. Someone had attacked the boys – right beneath his nose, and there was no sign of his charge. Just what was going on?

Reaching out with more urgency, Severus tried to detect the attacker, even as he tried to revive his student. Unless Potter had dropped his Occlumency shield, there was little chance of him locating him this way, but there was a possibility that whoever had done this had no knowledge of the mind arts and could be thus located. There were easier ways of finding his charge, the simplest being a simple locating spell like the one he had used that morning to find him. But, given the fact that his wand was currently occupied as he tried to reverse the spell on him, legilimency would have to do.

Finally, St. Clair gave a low moan and opened his eyes, looking at him blearily. "Professor?"

"What happened?" he demanded.

"I-I don't know."

Severus cursed beneath his breath. The stunning spell had been a particularly strong one, and it was clear that the Slytherin boy was still suffering some residual effects on it on him. However, there was no time for him to be patient with him. Potter was in danger, and St. Clair was the only possible clue to what had occurred. Damning himself for the necessity of it, he bent, grasping the boy's chin firmly before forcing him to meet his eyes. Despite the urgency of the situation, he forced himself to be gentle as he penetrated his mind, quickly seeking out the memory. He withdrew from his mind after a few seconds, quickly processing what he had seen. He and Potter had been walking away from the shack, undoubtedly preparing to meet him. There was a sudden crack from the general area behind them – as if someone had stepped on a dry twig. Potter had turned first, and had started to say something before a scarlet light enveloped him. Before St. Clair had managed to get a word out himself, he too had been stunned.

Whoever had done it was experienced, Severus mused. Those two stunners had been cast within seconds of each other; only someone with duelling experience could manage such a feat so accurately. His fear for Potter's safety increased.

"Wand in hand," he said shortly as St. Clair rose to his feet.

Without the need to worry about the Slytherin anymore, Severus focussed his attention on Potter. He walked cautiously toward the direction where the spells had come from, but there was no sign of anyone. Apparition from here was impossible, so unless the person had had a portkey, or even more absurdly, had flown away from the area, they could not be too far away. Less than ten minutes had elapsed; hardly enough time to make a proper getaway on foot, especially with an unconscious pre-teen to deal with. No, whoever had done it was still in the vicinity of the area, and it only took a locator charm to confirm what Severus had already deduced. Whoever had taken Harry was still there on the hill – in the Shrieking Shack.

It was obviously a trap.

Severus forced himself not to react to his thoughts, instead, he called Alistair over to him in a steady tone. Whoever had Harry was probably watching them, and probably had been for the last few minutes. And yet, he (Severus assumed it was a man) had not attacked either of them, even though he had had ample opportunity to do so, especially when he had been dealing with the boy. St. Clair came to his side. Severus pointed his arm to a spot down the hill, pretending to be showing him something. Convinced that the person would, for now, believe that he had misled them as to his whereabouts, Severus said, "Remain calm. Harry is in the Shack with whoever took him."

To his credit, St. Clair did not react past a slight frown on his face, even as he took a cue from his professor, turning his head about, as if looking for something. "What are we going to do?" he asked, "Harry's in danger isn't he?"

"Obviously," Severus said shortly, before tempering himself. There was no need to take out his building frustration on the boy beside him. "He is," he amended, striving to keep his tone level. "And we won't be doing anything. You will be leaving now."

St. Clair started to protest, but Severus cut him off with a stern glare. "I know you want to help St. Clair, but you will do Harry or I no good staying here."

"I can't just leave you here."

"You are not just leaving me, you are going to go and fetch help. I want you to go down the hill from this side. Circle around till you reach the village and let Rosmerta know what has happened."

"Why don't you come with me?" the Slytherin pressed. "It'll be easier if-"

"I have no idea who is in there with Potter," Severus snapped, his rigid control of his emotions faltering at the thought of knowingly walking away from the child, "nor why he has him. I've wasted enough time as it is. I can only hope that my thoughts are right and that this is just a part of a wider plan. Now go."

His tone left absolutely no room for argument, and so, with a last glance at him, the third year took off, disappearing from view within seconds.

Severus' grip on his wand tightened as he turned toward the shack, his eyes seeking out a dusty, cracked window. He swallowed, the previous image of Lupin's eyes coming to mind before slowly being replaced by one of an unconscious Potter waiting within the shack to be saved. No, he could not allow himself to be daunted by his past experiences with the place. Right now, he had to focus on the only important thing – rescuing the child from whoever had dared to try to take him away.

*

The first thing that registered to Harry as he slowly returned to consciousness was the fact that parts of his body ached. He was not too perturbed by that – he was well acquainted with pain. It only took him a moment, as he fought against the residual lethargy that refused to release its grip on him, to decide that he had most likely fallen, and quite hard. The pain in his head though... that too seemed vaguely familiar to him, but at the moment he could not quite place where he had felt this odd pulsing pain before. Perhaps he would remember later. His absent minded musing ceased abruptly when he heard an angry shout a distance away from him. He knew that voice – it was Professor Snape, and he sounded furious and...worried?

Harry finally lifted himself above the lethargy he felt and forced his eyes open as his memories returned to him. There had been a man...his wand had been drawn and the look on his face had been disconcerting. It had been both menacing and gleeful – like how Dudley looked whenever he was about to announce loudly one of Harry's failures to his aunt and uncle so that he would be amply punished for it. A bolt of fear had jolted through Harry at that, and he had tried to warn Alistair about it when that spell – whatever it had been, had hit him.

Harry sat up swiftly as he heard something break in the next room, followed by a pained grunt. That, he decided, definitely had not been his professor. He scrambled to his feet as the sound of fighting continued, even as fear gripped his heart. It did not take a genius to realise what had happened to him. The professor was fighting whoever it was had shot that spell at him. Harry wondered what he should do; the longer the noise continued, the more frightened he became, especially when he heard a pained shriek emerge that definitely belonged to his guardian. Professor Snape was getting hurt, because of him. He couldn't just remain here, cowering in this room, while the man tried to protect him.

The twelve year old never paused to consider the fact that he would probably not be able to assist in any real way. All that mattered to him was lending assistance to the man who had done so much for him. With that in mind, he raced to the doorway, and tugged agitatedly at it when it refused to budge. Why wouldn't it open? He tried again, jostling the handle back and forth before pushing himself at the door in an attempt to get it to open. He groaned in frustration when he heard a slew of incantations before another pained cry from Professor Snape. "No," he choked out, the slight trembling in his hands growing more pronounced as he banged futilely against the door. Why wouldn't it budge?

It took another spell incantation for Harry to chide himself for his stupidity. How could he have forgotten the fact that he was a wizard? Frowning for his forgetfulness, something that had undoubtedly caused his Professor extra pain, Harry took a few steps backwards, concentrating on the door as he raised his hand. He had had the occasional problem with his casting over the past school year, caused by the fact that, due to his ability, he couldn't simply rely on a spell incantation to help him focus his magic like everyone else. He actually had to concentrate on manipulating the magic to obey his will. Once he figured out the mechanics behind a particular bit of magi, it became second nature for him. At moments like this unfortunately, when he knew what he needed to do, but was not entirely certain of how best to accomplish it, it was left scrambling for a solution. Usually, the headmaster would be there to assist him at these times, working through the theory behind the spell with him and gently guiding him into how best he needed to channel his magic. But Headmaster Dumbledore was not there currently, and he certainly did not have the expanse of time he usually did to figure this out.

His professor needed help, and he needed it now.

Resultantly, Harry, after a few seconds contemplation, decided that he was better off trying to accomplish something simple yet effective, rather than a more complicated action, such as trying to get the door unlocked. It took him nearly a minute to gather enough strength for what he was about to do, but spurned on by another shriek from beyond the room, he released the gathering force building within him. The force of it tumbled him backwards, and he barely kept himself on his feet, even as a translucent ball careened toward the door. Momentarily, he feared that the ball of magic would simply dissipate, as it rippled similar to how a bubble acted before it burst, but then it connected to the door...and exploded.

Harry squeaked, before lifting his hands to his face as bits of debris flew about the place. He certainly had not intended for that to happen, but technically the door (and a good bit of the wall) was no longer a hindrance to him. He gasped as a piece of scrap cut his arm, before moaning as a wave of dizziness assaulted him. He dropped down to one knee as he tried to collect himself. The wave passed after a long moment, but the bitter taste in his mouth remained, and the world briefly tilted as he forced himself to his feet. He was not sure what had caused that feeling, but he could not let it distract him from his task. Professor Snape was far more important than what he was currently feeling.

In the immediate aftermath of the explosion, the sounds from beyond stilled. However, it restarted within moments before seemingly receding, as if the duelling men were moving away from the area. Harry clambered through the hole, coughing a bit at the thick layer of dust he had to pass through. He flicked his hand, dispelling it to get a better view of the room. The signs of a fight occurring within it were clear; pieces of furniture were overturned or mutilated, and a few areas of the wooden walls were darkened from the impact of a spell. His eyes caught a broken window, even as he moved further into the room, looking tentatively around him. He frowned at the scenery beyond, before realising that he was inside the Shack. It certainly was bigger on the inside, he noted, before re-focussing on his objective – helping the potions master.

A crash from above told him that they had moved to the second floor, and, swallowing his nervousness, he hurried toward the rickety staircase across the room, grasping the railing cautiously as he peered upward. As quietly as possible he climbed it, ducking once as a red bolt slightly darker than the one that had struck him before sailed over his head, connecting with the last step and effectively shattering it. He whimpered slightly as he looked at the ruined step, imagining what it would have done to him. He steeled himself against the thought, pressing on. He had heard the incantation to produce the spell numerous times over the past few minutes; his professor's screams sounded the most painful then. If he had been struck with that spell numerous times...Harry threw caution to the wind and ran up the last few stairs.

Clearing the stair case, Harry turned into the first room on the left, catching sight of the men as soon as he entered the room. He had been right. Standing directly in front of him was the menacing man from before. He was tall and hulking, and wore a dark blue robe with black lining that was ripped and bloodied in several places. That robe caught and held Harry's attention. It was the uniform that Madam Rosmerta's workers wore while on duty. He knew this man. He had seen him a couple of times over the course of the day, first waiting on tables in the pub and then occasionally dallying around their general vicinity as they had wandered about the village. That didn't explain why he had grabbed him though, or why he was now attacking the potions master with a vengeance.

As he leaped to the side to avoid a spell (causing Harry to drop to the floor to dodge it), his guardian came into view. In that moment, Harry knew he had made the right decision in coming up there. Professor Snape looked horrible. His hair was askew, and blood was pouring down from a gash on his forehead. His right hand was cradling his left shoulder in a way that suggested that it was badly injured, and his entire frame visibly trembled. He had never seen him so grim or so pale; it was clear that he was in unbelievable pain. Professor Snape's eyes met his, and Harry was mystified by the horrified expression that crossed his face.

The man noticed Professor Snape's distraction, and Harry swallowed nervously when his menacing eyes settled on him. He expected a spell to be cast his way, and instinctively raised a defensive hand against it. It was unnecessary though. The wizard simply snapped "Get outta here kid," before pointing his wand at Professor Snape. Harry hesitated briefly, but, when his guardian seconded the man's words with a sharp jerk of his head, he fled the room, before hesitating a few steps away from the room when he heard a pained grunt from the professor. He couldn't do this. He had come so far. Even if the potions master wanted him gone from here, he could not abandon him while knowing he was in no real shape to battle anyone. But what could he do? Planning to help his guardian had seemed like such a great idea when he was trapped in the room, but now, faced with reality, he knew that he would more than likely be a hindrance to him than anything else.

He whimpered when the sound of something breaking echoed from above. Thankfully that time, it sounded like it was his kidnapper who had been hit, but he doubted that it was the end of it. There had to be something, anything he could do to help. The answer came to him when, batting at an insect buzzing around him, his hand brushed against his pocket. He had his bag on him. Despite the grimness of the situation, a smile formed on his face. He had no idea where Alistair was at the moment, but maybe, just maybe, he had a way to get help for his guardian. Taking a few more steps away from the room so that he was out of earshot, he removed the bag and enlarged it, moaning a bit as his nausea increased. He was certain now that it had something to do with that first big spell he had cast. He had probably overdone it a bit, and this was his body's way of telling him that and warning him not to continue. It was too bad that he couldn't listen to that warning right now.

His hands fumbled slightly as he withdrew one of the mirrors. Taking a steadying breath, he tried to activate it before groaning. This was one of the incomplete ones. There was still a few more spells and a rune to be added to it before it became functioning. Harry put it aside and dug into his bag for the second one, sighing as the handle emerged first – without a rune. Really, did he have to have grabbed the two incomplete ones? Harry was about to drop it back into the bag and think of something else when he felt the mirror vibrate in his hand – a signal that there was a call waiting. His breath hitched, and he hurriedly removed it. This was the one Alistair had been working on when Professor Snape had come to them. It lacked a rune yes, but it had enough spell work on it to receive a call, although one could not be made from it, nor could the recipient be heard.

Harry activated it, and choked back a cry when Alistair's worried face came into view.

"Harry!" he half shouted with excitement, and in the background, Harry heard a sudden silence descend at his exclamations.

The twelve year old raised a finger to his lips, hoping that Alistair realised that he needed to be quieter, just in case. The fighting was still going on above, but he didn't want to be found out just yet. Alistair nodded before saying, "Professor Sprout wants the mirror. I'm giving it to her now."

The woman's face came into view a second later. It was creased with worry. "Harry," she said without preamble. "Professor Flitwick and Professor Sinistra should be approaching the shack currently. There are anti-apparition wards on the place, so it's taking a bit longer than it would otherwise. Alistair's explained to me how this contraption works so I'm aware you cannot respond verbally. So just nod or shake your head, okay? Good. Have you been hurt? No? You don't look well...never mind that for now. Is Professor Snape with you?"

Harry nodded, pointing upwards.

"He's duelling him? Don't look so concerned Harry. Professor Snape can handle himself."

Harry shook his head furiously at that. "He's hurt," he said, exaggerating the mouth movements so that she could understand him.

"Help is on the way," she reassured him. "Word has even gotten out to Albus. He's on his way, but everything should be over before he gets back. I want you to just stay where you are and on this device with me."

Harry's brows furrowed at that. While he was relieved that help was coming, he couldn't just sit here, especially when he heard Professor Snape emit a particularly painful grunt before a strange, dull cracking sound filled the air. When the man issued a next grunt, this one slightly gurgling, Harry's heart clenched, and, without a thought, he started heading back toward the room, ignoring the witch who was telling him not to move. No, it was obvious the woman was not hearing what he was. Even if the professors were on their way, Professor Snape needed help now.

Harry restrained a cry as he reached re-entered the room. Professor Snape was lying on his back on the ground, and it was clear that the popping noises were coming from within him. His bones were breaking, and moving within him, and bile rose in Harry's throat as he saw his robe starting to rise from his body – some of the bones were starting to protrude from him.

The man was crouched beside him, a crazed expression on his face as he chuckled, actually chuckled as Professor Snape's chest heaved slightly and some blood drooled out of his mouth.

"I would kill you," he laughed, "but a swift death is too kind for you. You betrayed our master. You curried favour with Dumbledore of all people and have been living in the lap of luxury while faithful servants like me withered away in Azkaban, still believing in our lord's ideals. No Snape; I won't let you die yet, not until you've felt the same agony I've endured all these years."

While saying that, he jabbed his wand into the man's side. Harry was not certain what he did, but when the amount of blood coming from Professor Snape's mouth increased, he knew he had to intervene. He set the mirror aside, and raised his hand. There was no need to worry about being seen any longer; his kidnapper was far too preoccupied with Professor Snape to notice him. Taking a deep breath, Harry started building back up the magic within him. The sick feeling increased and his body actually wavered, but Harry pressed through. His own health was irrelevant now. He had to help Professor Snape...his life was on the line. The sight of a next bone starting to rise spurred Harry on, and, forcibly focusing, he released another ball. Harry knew from the start that it would not hit its target. Barely half way to the man, the ball rippled dangerously and he was clutched by despair even as his legs gave out, dropping him painfully to his knees. Unexpectedly, rather than dissipating as he had expected, the ball exploded midway. The force was enough to propel him away from the professor and into a wall with considerable force. He fell in a crumpled heap, and, forcing himself to move despite the nausea he felt, Harry hoped that he would just stay down.

A next loud crack, and gurgling sound, threw all thoughts of his kidnapper from his mind. Harry dropped heavily down beside Professor Snape, meeting his eyes. The man seemed incapable of speech, but there was a spark of recognition in his gaze as he saw him. Harry felt tears prickle at his eyes when the man raised a trembling hand up toward him. He grasped it tightly before choking back a sob as he took in the man's form and the bones that seemed determined to re-arrange themselves within him. Professor Snape's life was teetering over the edge; the fact was plain to see. And with help still nowhere in sight, he was the only one who could help him, and he had no idea of what he should do. It wasn't likely that the potions master would happen to have a 'stop bones from moving' potion in his robe pocket. But then again, Harry remembered, drawing to mind that day when he had had to carry Neville to the Hospital Wing, potions were not the only thing that healed. There was also magic. If the medi-witch could heal Neville's scrapped knee with a simple wand tap, Harry was certain that there was something he could do to stop the man's ailment.

It was the faint yet discernible tightening of Professor Snape's hand around his that prompted him into action, and his eyes closed even as a tear trickled down his face. There was no room for doubt or hesitation, he told himself, concentrating deeply on nothing but getting his magic to listen to him this one last time and the feeling of the man's trembling fingers in his hand. He had to get his magic to cooperate with him now or else he would lose his guardian. Thankfully, his magic responded readily, and a warm feeling slowly enveloped the twelve year old, before passing to his hands and then out of him and into the professor. Harry took a deep calming breath, ignoring the rolling waves of nausea and dizziness that was trying to overtake him. It wasn't important. All that mattered was Professor Snape. He could rest all he wanted once he was done.

Lost in concentrating on the task at hand, Harry's awareness of his surroundings faded. He failed to notice the groans of his kidnapper regaining consciousness, or the sound of the door downstairs being forced open. He was jolted out of trance-like state though by several shouts coming from in front and behind him, the feeling of spells shooting around him, and finally by the familiar whooshing sound that always accompanied Fawkes' entrance. His eyes flew open at that, and looking down Harry saw that both his hand, and the professor was glowing. Was that his magic, he wondered, ignoring the happenings around him. It was... it was working. Well somewhat, the cracking had stopped and the pain in the man's eyes had faded somewhat, but his injuries, extensive as they were, remained. He had failed, but it did not matter now; Fawkes was here.

The phoenix looked terrible. His feathers were falling all around him and he just seemed...old and frail. Harry felt a next tear fall at that. What was wrong with Fawkes? Why was it that everyone he loved seemed to be in such a terrible condition today? Fawkes was not looking at him though. His head was bent over Professor Snape, and as the first of many tears fell from his eyes onto the man, Harry lost all hope. If Fawkes, the most cheerful of all creatures, was crying, then he truly had failed his guardian. That thought pushed Harry beyond his limit. It was too much - the stress, the dizziness and nausea, and now the despair of knowing that he had not been able to help his professor.

Harry could take it no more, and so, his body shut down and he slumped down beside Professor Snape, never releasing the grip he had on his hand.


	47. Chapter 47

Waking up had never been so hard to do. For a long while, Severus just floated on the edge of consciousness, slowly regaining awareness of the world around him, but never quite getting enough strength to push past that final barrier and just wake up. It was annoying. There was little to distract him from the darkness he was drifting upon, but eventually voices started piercing the fog surrounding him, soft and indiscernible at first, but finally clear enough so he could understand snippets of conversations, and eventually place who some of the voices belonged to. The woman's voice was unknown to him, but she sounded kind yet somewhat clinical as she spoke. There was also a high pitched, incessant chirping that made him want to surface just to strangle its source. Albus' warm voice drifted to him the most, concerned at first, but eventually there was just tiredness in it whenever he spoke. What on earth was the old man doing to add that dimension to his voice? And then there was Harry; his voice stood out to him the most, and not just because of the fact that he was all but shouting the first time he heard him, and later on just sounded worried and pleading. He struggled most whenever he heard the child's voice, wanting just to wake up and find out what was wrong with the boy. But he couldn't. He just did not have the strength to and so could only just remain here and languish until his body decided to respond to the demands of his mind.

It felt like an eternity had passed, but finally, Severus was able to rise above that fog of darkness, coming into full awareness. He took a shuddering breath as he cracked open his eyes, instinctively bracing himself to be assaulted by bright light. There was none; the room was dimly lit, and, blinking a few times to clear his vision, Severus found himself staring at the ceiling of his bedroom at Cottage House. He stared at it for a long time, wondering why he was here and trying to organise his mind into some sort of order. His memories were rather scattered at the moment, and the aftertaste in his mouth was proof enough that he was under the influence of a potion that was making his task considerably more difficult. Finally though, he settled his mind, and when he did, he shot up from his pillow, before groaning at the dull ache that immediately started in his torso. Gingerly, he wrapped an arm around himself, recalling the devastating curse that he had been struck with. It was his last conscious memory of the entire debacle. A sloppy move on his path had left him wide open...and his opponent had taken advantage of that fact.

That chirping that had plagued him started again, and, turning carefully to his left, Severus arched an eyebrow as he took in the small crate on his bedside table, but more importantly, what was in it.

"Fawkes?" he asked, wincing at how gravelly his voice sounded.

If anything, his tone excited the baby phoenix looking at him, and the chirping grew louder, even as tiny, bare wings fluttered, as if it was determined to fly to him.

"All right," he grumbled, "there's no need to deafen me on top of everything else."

Fawkes, surprisingly, obeyed him and fell quiet.

"There's a first time for everything," he muttered, as he reached past the bird's 'nest' to grab his wand. Fingering it carefully, he cast a numbing spell on his torso, breathing in relief when the pain dissipated. It would not last for too long – but he was certain he could get a proper potion into his system before it wore off. Ten minutes later, he emerged from his bathroom, pulling a robe on over the fresh pyjamas he had donned. Fawkes gave a demanding chirp when he reached his door, and Severus shot a look at him over his shoulder. "I have no idea why the old man left you in here, but I'm not going to log you around... you can just stay there for now."

He was halfway down the corridor when he heard a significantly softer version of the sound that always accompanied Fawkes' flashing, before a tiny weight landed on his shoulder. It was only his quick reflexes that saved Fawkes from falling to the ground as he tumbled off him. Severus glared down at the tiny phoenix that at least had the grace to look ashamed before pecking affectionately at his fingers. Snorting, Severus deposited the bird into the breast pocked of his shirt, his lips quirking when its naked head popped up to look around.

"You're an ugly little thing you know," he told him before moving toward Harry's bedroom door.

Thankfully, if the Death Eater's jeering words were to be believed, the worst Harry had suffered was the stunner used to incapacitate him. Therefore, fright aside, Severus was certain that he was okay. He just had to confirm that with his own eyes before he went in search of the old man and found out just why he was not dead. Warning the phoenix not to start back chirping, he cracked the door open, smiling softly when he saw the twelve year old asleep, curled up on his side with the sheets at his waist. Moving into the room, he gently pulled the blankets up to his shoulders, tucking it a bit tighter around him. With only the light from the hallway as illumination, it was a bit difficult to see the child's face, so Severus contented himself with running his hand through the loose hair on his forehead before quietly leaving the room feeling considerably more relieved than before.

"Where would Albus be?" he mused aloud, one hand rubbing absently against his right side. The spell was starting to wear off, but thankfully, thus far the pain was just a little niggling one that he could easily endure. A chirrup from his pocket had him looking downward and a brief, badly developed image flashed in his mind before fading.

"Living room, huh?"

A minute later, he stopped at the bottom of the staircase, slightly winded, as he peered into the living room. Albus was seated in the armchair, his back to him as he stared into the empty fireplace. Severus was briefly surprised at the emotions that rose within him looking at the old man like that. He had to admit, that in those last moments as his body turned against him, his mind had wandered to first Harry and then the old man, wondering how the man would deal with losing yet another son. Thankfully that had not come to pass. Severus shifted uncomfortably at the thought; being near death certainly changed one's outlook on things. He had thought that it would be a cold day in hell before he ever admitted to being the old man's son, but, as long as he did not verbalise it, he could live with that.

He swallowed as he looked to him again, wondering what would be the least awkward way of announcing his presence. And, by Merlin, what would he do if the old man decided to get all sentimental on him and want a hug? The decision was made for him when Fawkes (the little traitor) started chirping. Albus shifted slightly, although he did not turn.

"Really Fawkes, would you stop flashing about the place like this? You're much too young for it. What if you hurt yourself?"

"I brought him down actually," he said, "although not by choice. He flashed himself onto my shoulder of all things."

Albus' head whipped around, and Severus snickered at the wide-eyed look on his face. "S-Severus," he gasped, rising. "My boy, you're awake!"

"Obviously," he drawled, ignoring the indignant chirp Fawkes gave on his partner's behalf.

As Albus approached him, the potions master braced himself for that unwanted hug, but to his surprise, the old man did little more than grasp onto his shoulders tightly, his eyes brimming with emotion. "Finally," he breathed, "you're finally awake."

Severus blinked at that. Just how long had he been unconscious?

"Six days," Albus replied, earning himself a glare.

"I know," he said, releasing him, "stay out of your mind. Now come, sit. How are you feeling? You're not due for anymore potions for a next three hours, but then again, you're not supposed to be moving. How do your ribs feel?"

"I numbed it," he replied, sitting gingerly; the pain was rapidly returning now. Albus noticed, and left the room while muttering something about potions and an Emily. Maybe that was the woman he remembered hearing? He removed and dropped Fawkes into his lap in the interim, taking the opportunity to observe him in his new form. The bird was all wrinkly, his skin a dull grey colour although under his eyes the skin was crinkled and purple. It was a terrible contrast to his adult self and Severus snickered; he would have so much fun with this. He frowned though when Fawkes shivered, and curled his hands around him. The room seemed perfectly fine to him, especially with summer on the horizon, but, now that he thought about it, that crate on his bedroom table had been radiating with warmth.

"You should have stayed there," he chided, while deliberating if he could manage the journey back up to his room with his torso throbbing so. It was unnecessary though, for when Albus returned, he had a crate under an arm and a tray in the next. Fawkes chirped in delight, and hopped into it immediately, burrowing himself down into the cushioning within in contentedly. "I won't be sympathetic if you get ill," Albus warned, even as he opened the first of many vials, passing them to the potions master one by one.

Severus idly took stock of their purpose as he swallowed – two for pain, one for swelling, one for bone strengthening and finally a sedative. He eyed Albus while fingering the last one, before sighing and swallowing it. He had been out for six days and already the man was trying to put him back under.

"Your bones are still fragile," he explained, passing him a tea cup. "You need to keep still or else there's a risk of them not healing properly."

That was as good an opening as any, he decided, asking, "What happened?"

"In general, or after you passed out?" Albus asked, his expression turning grim.

"Let's start with after," he told him. "I'm assuming Rosmerta got to me in time to counter the curse."

If possible, the man's expression darkened further, before he spoke. "It was Filius and Astoria actually. And no, you can thank Harry for that."

"What?" Severus gasped. "I told him to leave."

"You're alive because he disobeyed," Albus said bluntly. "They would have been too late – and neither of them knew the counter to that curse anyway."

"Then how could Harry...?"

"I still don't know for certain," the headmaster sighed. "They came across Harry slumped beside you, his magic still pouring into you while Fawkes tried to repair some of your more extensive wounds with his tears. Filius actually had to put a temporary bind on Harry's powers; it was the only way to stop the flow and Fawkes combusted not a minute later. From what the healers and I could tell, Harry managed to overwhelm the curse's power and stop it from damaging you any further. He could not help your injuries, but he managed to save your heart from being penetrated. The overriding theory is that it was accidental magic...I mean how likely is it that a twelve year old could completely override such a heinous curse? I've publicly endorsed that theory, but I'll have to look into the Potter family records when I have the time to do so. Charles always had an uncanny ability of avoiding serious injury no matter what spell or curse was tossed his way. And, thinking about it, though a bit malnourished, Harry was in rather good shape for one living under those circumstances for so many years. Maybe he just forced a latent ability into action trying to help you? Who knows? I must admit I've had more important things to dwell upon than that.

"Anyway, by the time I arrived, there were already healers from St. Mungo's there trying to stabilise you enough for transportation. Harry had already been sent ahead with Sinistra, and Filius was trying to cope with Fawkes. Merlin alone knows how he found the strength to flash to you in the first place and he was being entirely uncooperative with Filius. He still is. He's constantly flashing to you or Harry. It reached the point that I actually had to have Harry moved into your room to keep the silly bird in one place."

"What was wrong with Harry?" Severus interjected.

"Magical exhaustion first and foremost," he explained with a sigh. "He's still suffering some residual effects of it. He woke up for a few hours on Sunday, before he drifted off again. He was a lot better by Monday...and then it started. He was hysterical. I wasn't there and he just...panicked. He thought you were dead Severus. They had to sedate him; he wouldn't listen to them and when they told him you were alive, he didn't believe them. I finally arrived, and even with the medication in him he started crying again, begging me not to be mad at him for failing you. I had to bring him to you...I thought seeing you would calm him down. He ran to your bed and started shaking you, begging you to wake up. And when you wouldn't...I don't ever want to see him like that again. I don't want to see you lying there like that again. Harry's still on edge. He won't leave your side for more than a few hours. He's even taken to sneaking into your bedroom after I put him to bed. I'm not entirely sure but I think he's afraid you'll disappear on him if he can't keep an eye on you. I stopped trying to put him back to bed after that first time. He sleeps better with you with him anyway and it isn't worth the fight. I've never seen him so stubborn before, but really I know it's just because he's scared for you. I was scared for you."

"Well as you can see, I'm fine now."

"You will be," Albus agreed, with a small smile. "Is there anything else you want to know for now?"

"What's happened to Rowle?"

"Thorfinn Rowle," the headmaster said darkly, "is currently residing in the Ministry's holding area. I do not doubt that he will soon be re-acquainting himself with the insides of Azkaban."

Severus shuddered at the thought. "Harry was taken because of me," he reflected. "He wanted vengeance. What I don't get though is why he didn't hurt Harry. He's still loyal to that man, and he had the boy who lived in his clutches. Not that I'm not grateful, but why was Harry unharmed?"

"He didn't know."

"What?" Severus frowned. "But Harry was not even glamoured."

"He did not know," Albus asserted before expatiating at the look Severus shot him. "The fact that you constantly changed his glamour made him assume that you were trying to hide Harry's true heritage. He thought that he was an unwanted child from a dark family who'd been shoved into your care. Harry wearing a Ravenclaw tie compounded that. You know how it is. Some families accept Ravenclaw as a suitable alternative to Slytherin, for others it is grounds for disowning. He thought the latter was the case and treated Harry accordingly. After all, if he was friends with a St. Clair, it meant that he still had some worth in the dark circles and he did not want to put himself in anyone's wrath while having his vengeance on you. That certainly has turned out to be the case as Alistair's father has pressed charges against him as well. Although...I never asked him, why was Harry wearing a Ravenclaw tie to start with?"

Severus snorted despite himself as he explained what Harry had told him that day. "It's even more reason for me to keep Lovegood away from Trewlany," he ended with a huff.

"You've made that statement numerous times you know," Albus said. "Explain yourself to me please, and then you're going to bed. Emily will not be pleased that I've let you out of it anyway."

"Emily?"

"Your healer from St. Mungo's. I had you brought here once you were healthy enough. Between the well-wishers and reporters, the hospital was becoming quite overrun. She comes twice daily to check on your condition. Now, answer me please."

"What do you know about Miss Lovegood's mother?"

Albus looked thoughtful for a moment. "She was in Ravenclaw I believe. I don't recall much else about her. She mostly kept under the radar as a student."

"She was a few years ahead of me in school," Severus said, "and while you may not have known her, she was rather...notorious for her oddness among us students. But what people mistook for stupidity was actually clairvoyance. After graduating from Hogwarts, she found herself a mentor and became quite the seer; she was nowhere near the level of the famed Cassandra Trelawney but she did have a few visions that, with time, proved to be accurate and it brought her into Voldemort's sight. It is why I know this about her. Voldemort ordered her to be captured and brought to him. When her home was raided, she was not there. I think she escaped to France, and Voldemort only made one more effort to find her before giving up. She'd left a message in her home stating plainly that she would never be in his grasp. He had no reason to doubt her. This happened while I was still in Hogwarts, but the story became a legend of sorts among the Death Eaters and so I learnt of it. I'd forgotten about her until I saw her obituary in the newspaper a few years ago. She'd married a Lovegood of all people...and died when something went wrong with one of his experiments. Rumours pen her death as the reason he turned from experimenting to searching for mythical creatures.

"From the moment I laid my eyes on Miss Lovegood, I knew she was her mother's daughter in every way that counts, from that dreamy expression in her eyes to those random things she says. Although random is a poor way of putting it. Few people listen to her words – Harry and his friends being among them – but whatever she speaks inevitably comes to pass. She's in the same position as her mother, misunderstood and without a mentor. Only she can confirm it, but something tells me that Miss Lovegood was aware of what would happen, and knew that a Gryffindor tie on Harry would be detrimental to him. If what you say is true, it's Rowle's assumption that Harry was dark that saved him from harm. He might have given Harry more attention had he known he was Gryffindor."

Albus was silent for a long moment, absorbing what he had heard. "But why do you want her away from Trelawney?"

Severus shot him a look that made it abundantly clear that the answer should be obvious. "The woman's a fraud, Albus," he snapped. "You know that, I know that, everyone with an iota of sense knows that. She's made one valid prophecy in her life –"

"One that changed the world as we knew it."

"Moving on," he huffed, "she's made one valid prophesy. The only visions she sees now are the ones in her liquor cup. I am not letting her anywhere near a real clairvoyant."

"I thought you hate seers on the whole?"

"The Lovegoods are different," he said, after a pause. "Visions are clear cut things. They can occur, be altered, or entirely mitigated. Prophecies on the other hand are just riddles that set people on the path to destruction. If no one acted on prophecies the world would be a better place and don't try to correct me, old man. My opinion will never change. If people stopped putting stock into cryptic messages and instead worked hard toward whatever it is they want to achieve then all would be well."

Albus eyed him for a long moment, and, to Severus' shock, rather than a rebuttal, the old man tossed back his head and laughed. "By Merlin," he chuckled, once he was in better control of himself. "I thought I'd never hear your grumblings again."

"I thought you said I was fine."

"Now that you're awake you will be," he said seriously, "but early on, there were a few testy moments. And now, to bed with you, my boy. I don't doubt that you'll have a busy day ahead of you tomorrow."

"Oh?"

"Well of course Harry will be all over you, and then Emily will want to prod you. And Filius and Astoria are bound to want to come see you." Albus paused, a mischievous expression on his face before he continued, "Astoria's been particularly worried about you. She visited you in the hospital everyday you were there and she drops by the office daily now."

"I am ignoring you," the potions master snapped as he rose, carefully schooling his expression into neutrality. "And keep the hatchling with you. He may be too tiny to make a roast with right now, but I will make a broth of him if he wakes me with his chirping."

"Severus!"

"Good night, old man," he bid, before slowly climbing the stairs.

*

It was morning.

That was the first thought that registered to the potions master as he opened his eyes. He remained still for a moment, taking stock of his body. When he was certain that the pain relief potions were still active, he carefully sat up, before frowning as the sheets on him offered mild resistance, rather than dropping naturally to his waist. Glancing to his side, his eyebrows rose in surprise as he saw Potter curled up beside him on the bed, fast asleep. The brat had even managed to get under the sheets he saw, bits of it clutched in his hands. Albus' words from the night before came back to him but honestly, Severus had assumed that the child just laid claim to the oversized armchair across the room. It certainly was big enough for him to sleep comfortably in. But no, Harry actually had the audacity to climb into bed with him...and Severus was not in the least bit irked by that fact. Indeed, when he rose up off the bed, he secured the sheets a bit tighter around the slumbering child.

A quiet chirp had him looking toward the crate. "You were not here when I went to bed," he said quietly, before scooping up the baby phoenix into his hands, "and I am certain the old coot did not bring you in here. You heard him Fawkes, you need to stop expending your magic like this." Severus quieted when some more gabbled, distorted images filtered into his brain. "So you do keep your memories when you're reborn," he murmured thoughtful. "You're truly destined for Harry, you know. You're worried about me too, hmm? That's why you and this brat have laid siege to my bedroom. Well as you can see, I am fine. Your efforts were successful. So will you please do as you should and stop flashing about the place? Fine. I'll keep you with me, will that satisfy you? Good. Now back into your crate and keep quiet. Let Harry sleep a bit more."

The twelve year old was still asleep when he came back into the room, once more dressed in sleeping clothes. He felt fine now, but he knew that, if the previous night's potions regime was anything to go by, he would be spending most of the day in bed. Why bother dressing up if that was the case? He hesitated, looking thoughtfully at Harry. After a moment, he transferred Fawkes' crate to his pillow.

"Keep him company," he ordered, "don't follow me."

When he was certain the bird would heed him, he quietly left the room, making his way to the kitchen where he found Albus, flitting around the kitchen with a silly grin on his face. Severus was certain that his awakening was the source of that grin.

"There are two interlopers in my bed," he said by way of greeting.

Albus laughed before gesturing for him to sit. "I realised that when I went to check on Harry this morning. I hope you didn't mind too much."

"He didn't hog the blankets at the very least," he shrugged, wrapping his hands around the warm coffee cup Albus placed in front of him. "I'm a bit concerned about the cause though."

The jovial expression faded from the man's face and he sighed. "I've already talked to Madame Phillips. You do remember her right?"

Severus nodded, recalling the middle aged witch who had come over after they had realised the mess Albus had unwittingly caused when he meddled with Harry's memories. "Harry was uncomfortable around her though."

"Very," he agreed. "I agree with her though that Harry needs professional help. This is definitely not something I think I can deal with on my own. I've asked her to come over later on this week. Maybe Harry will react better to her this time, and if he doesn't, I'll try to arrange for someone else. ... I think you'll benefit from it as well."

Severus stared contemplatively at his cup before nodding. "I will."

If Albus was surprised by his easy agreement, he did not show it, but instead continued preparing their breakfast. Severus was, by that time, slowly sipping on his second cup of coffee, while the old man slid a rack of muffins out of the oven when they heard it, the distinctive sound of a door slamming back against a wall. The men shared a look but, before either could say a word, footsteps thundered down the staircase even as Harry's frantic voice met their ears. "Where is he? Headmaster! Headmaster! He's not in his bed. Professor Snape...is he okay? He didn't..."

Severus could only watch in bemusement as the twelve year old ran into the kitchen, before stopping abruptly at the sight of him. In the seconds that passed before the boy flung himself against him, Severus took stock of him, and saw firsthand why a mind healer was necessary. The panic in Harry's eyes mirrored, if not surpassed how he had been that previous summer when he had been suffering from the absence of some of his memories. The potions master felt a sense of self loathing at the realisation that he was responsible for that expression on the lad's face, before the breath was knocked out of him. The twelve year old was surprisingly strong when the need arose, he thought ruefully, even as he wrapped his arms around him in return, twisting and spreading his legs slightly so that the boy was not so awkwardly positioned against him.

"You're alive," he heard, the boy's voice muffled against his chest, "you're awake. I'm sorry, so sorry. I'm sorry..."

He was trembling, shaking really, as he fisted handfuls of the man's shirt. Severus gave Albus a startled look before lowering a hand to rub calming circles on the boy's back. Why on earth was the child apologising to him when it was he who put him in that precarious situation in the first place?

"Please, stay with me? Don't leave me. I'm sorry."

"Hush, Harry," he said quietly, resting his chin on top of the boy's head. Without much context to go off of, Severus could do little to properly allay Harry's fears. So, for now, he'd just base his words off what the boy was mumbling to him, and hope that it would be enough to help him for now. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Albus leaving the kitchen. While he was certain he had done it to give them a few minutes alone, Severus hoped that he had the foresight to return with a calming potion for the lad.

"I'm right here...I'm not going anywhere, Harry."

"You should," Harry protested, pulling back enough to look at him. "It's my fault."

"Oh?"

"You came after me. You got hurt because you tried to save me."

Severus carefully schooled his expression. Had Albus not explained the entire truth of the situation to Harry? Or was it that this was the first time that Harry was verbalising the things that was plaguing him? Neither option appealed to him.

"Harry," he said firmly, "I want you to listen very carefully to me. What happened that day was not your fault."

"But-"

"No buts," he interrupted, thinking quickly of the simplest way to explain this to him. "You were not Rowle's target. I was. He took you because he knew that I would come for you."

"You shouldn't have," he sniffed. "You'd be safe."

"Why wouldn't I have come after you?" he countered. "Child, I will always be there when you need me. You know you are precious to me, and so did Rowle. It is why he took you from me; he knew I would follow, and I did. I should be the one apologising child. You are guilt free in this. He had a vendetta to settle with me, and unfortunately, you were caught in the crossfire."

"Vendetta?"

Despite the situation, Severus snickered lightly. "I never did get around to those vocabulary lessons with you, huh?"

"No."

"I'll rectify that. For now, will you trust my words and believe that you are not at fault? We need to discuss this further, but I must admit that I am in need of some potions right now."

Harry pulled away from him immediately. "I'm sorry. Did I hurt your middle?" he asked, pressing a careful hand against it.

"You did not," he said smoothly, reaching out to ruffle his hair. "Go see where the old man is hiding okay?"

"Okay."

Severus looked after him as he walked out the room. He knew that this was not the end of the matter. Harry had neatly sidestepped answering him, and, it was obvious from the way he was for dragging Harry into his demented plans. He could only hope that all the progress Harry had made over the year had not been undone.

*

"You're actually here?" Severus said in surprise a few nights later as he entered the living room.

"Where else would I be?"

"At Hogwarts...or at the Ministry."

"You know I've been working from here, Severus," Albus told him, gesturing for him to sit, while he set aside the documents he had been working on. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," Severus said, waving a hand dismissively. "You know that. I'm well aware that Emily is keeping you well informed of my progress."

Albus noted the slight bitterness in his tone. "You only have to endure her presence a few more days, Severus. Unless you prefer that I take Poppy up on her offer to oversee the remainder of your treatment?"

"Emily is fine," he responded quickly, shuddering at the idea of dealing with Hogwarts' matron. He'd never be allowed out of bed again if that woman had her way with him.

"I thought you'd see it that way."

"Harry's asleep; in his own bed I might add."

"That's progress," Albus smiled. "It'll be three nights in a row if tonight goes smoothly."

"Indeed. I had to stay until he fell asleep, but if he continues at this rate, he'll be fine in a few more days."

"He will. I've decided against sending him back to class by the way. There's only a few more days left until the exam period starts. It's not worth the hassle and, for all he has improved, I'm not entirely certain he's ready to be take on the world again so soon. No one will have much time to pay attention to him during the exams so I'm sure he'll manage those beautifully."

"I forgot to ask him. How did his trip back to Hogwarts go?"

"Splendidly," Albus beamed. "He had told his friends that he would be there this afternoon. Those mirrors are a marvellous creation you know. I am very impressed with them. They were waiting outside my office as soon as classes had ended. Even Percy Weasley and the Creevey joined them. I was a bit worried that he would be overwhelmed – they nearly tackled him after all, but he was fine. He disappeared with them and didn't come back until dinner time."

"Good."

"If he wants to I'll take him with me tomorrow. You may also want to consider joining us. A certain member of staff has been finding excuse after excuse to come to my office and just happen to inquire after you while there."

Severus rolled his eyes, pointedly ignoring his words. "I will consider it, if only to ensure that Vector has not thoroughly corrupted my Slytherins."

"You care not what I've done to your potions classroom?"

"I'd mostly finished the syllabus anyway. I doubt that a week under your tenure would erase what knowledge I managed to pound into their heads."

"Who said that I was teaching them how to make potions?"

That gave Severus a moment's pause. He could see the man teaching his students how to make some confectionary product, if only to annoy him, but he knew that a proper education was of utmost priority to him. And so, he only snared at him before saying, "I'm still shocked that you've managed to add my teaching schedule to your list of duties. You had barely been making it back in time to teach Transfigurations. Not finding a replacement for me aside, don't you have your own work to deal with? Old man? Speak you old coot!"

"Ever with the name calling," Albus replied, with a mock pout. "I was simply thinking of how best to respond to you."

"What is there to think about? Unless you've issued yourself another time turner, which we agreed after last year you would not do again."

"Don't glare at me so. I simply...delegated my workload a bit."

"Delegate...you? You don't trust half of the Wizengamont as far as you can throw them, and you honestly expect me to believe that you've handed over some of your responsibilities?"

"I had not planned on having this conversation with you so soon, Severus."

"Albus..."

"I'm not being cryptic with you," he interrupted, raising a staying hand. "I've made a few...changes while you were unconscious, my boy. And several of them relate to my position."

"What have you done?"

"I'm resigning," Albus said bluntly. "This year's session will be my last. I've already started offloading my duties to my deputies. One of them will take up the mantle – I refuse to decide on whom, but I have made up my mind. I'm working now on only the most important cases, so, Severus, I can easily afford to teach a few extra classes."

Severus could only stare at him, as numerous thoughts raced through his mind. Albus loved his work at the Wizengamont; it stressed and frustrated him yes, but never had the old man given the slightest inclination of leaving the position. Indeed, several staff members had joked over the years that Albus would only leave his position to take over Fudge's job, and he was certain that he was not interested in that. So then, why? He posed the question to the man.

"I wasn't there."

"What?"

"I wasn't there," Albus repeated. "Harry needed me, you needed me, and I wasn't there. I could have lost the both of you because I was once again wrapped up in my work. If Rosmerta hadn't had to work so hard to track me down, I could have gotten there in time to help you. Hell, you might not have run head first into danger but might have been able to call me to assist. Instead, because of my absence you had to face him alone, and you nearly died because of it. Not again, Severus. I won't let this happen a third time. I should have done this years ago when I made you my son...and then again when I took guardianship of Harry. I should have cut back on my workload so I could have a greater presence in both of your lives. I didn't. I can only count my blessings that you have been here to help with Harry when I have been unable to do so, but that never should have become your responsibility, although I know it is one you willingly do.

"And so, my boy, I am resigning. Finally, finally, I have set my priorities straight. I owe it to you, and I owe it to Hogwarts. The school deserves a lot more than a sometimes headmaster. There are so many plans I have had for the school that I have put on hold because of my other duties. No more. It's time that I start doing the things I want to do, and not the things I feel obliged to do. And truthfully, more and more, the Wizengamont has become an obligation to me. But I refuse to be tied to it for any longer. I won't be around forever and my time is swiftly passing. It's more than time for the younger generation to start taking up the reigns of governance of our world. I'm not cutting all ties; I'll still make myself available in the capacity of an advisor, but that will be all. I want to be there for my school and my family. I want to be there for all of Harry's milestones. I want to be there for you and for whatever it is you choose to do with your life. And to do that, I need to free myself from my obligations, and I am starting to do so."

Severus could only stare once Albus fell quiet. He did not know how to start responding to his words.

"A dumbfounded, Severus," Albus teased, "miracles do occur. It was a surprisingly easy decision to make and I have not had a moment's doubt about it so far. And believe me, I have been inundated with letters and requests for meetings from so many people...including Fudge. But I mostly think it's because he believes I'm going to come after his job now. I'm deliberately ignoring him currently...there's too much fun to be had with him."

Severus laughed at that, shaking his head at the image. "I am surprised," he admitted, "but I will support your decision, if you truly consider it the best for you."

Albus' face crinkled with mischief. "How diplomatic of you, Severus. You can just admit to being eternally grateful for my benevolent decision. I know that, deep, deep, deep inside you're shedding a joyful tear and are struggling against the urge to throw yourself in my arms and hug me out of sheer delight and...I suppose I should be grateful that it's just a pillow you've thrown at me," he added, as he ducked out of the way of the missile.

"I happen to like this side table."

"Severus!"

"And with that, I go to bed."

"Stay, my boy," Albus bid. "I'll behave. I'll call for a tea tray and we will talk some more – any topic you desire...as long as it concerns a certain witch who's constantly asking after you."

"I despise you," Severus ground out, although he sat back down.

"Harry really likes her; that's a plus. And I positively adore her."

"Old man, if you are going to gabble about such nonsensical topics, I demand my tea first. Make sure Mitsy brings it in that floral nightmare tea set Minerva sent you a few years ago. I have no compunction about breaking one of those over your stubborn head."


	48. Chapter 48

"Harry needs new friends," Severus declared as he dropped down into a chair. "The ones he has right now are making him far too inquisitive."

"Is this about the newspaper articles about us? I told you that I've already discussed the matter with them. They don't publish anything else — Brian or your...youth — and I won't ensure that they all regret ever stepping within ten feet of their office."

Albus' tone was fairly cheerful as he explained the 'friendly advice' he had given to the newspaper. The more that he thought about it, the more Severus berated himself for not anticipating something like this occurring. The press were vultures after all, and, despite the time that had passed, they were still trying to milk the situation for all that it was worth. The potions master actually wished that Fudge would muck something up to give them something new to talk about, but the Minister had never done something that Severus approved of before, and things had not changed in this regard. He was tired of it; the harassment, the rumours, the fact that students (and a few of the staff) still stared at him when he showed up at the school, the fact that Harry – though much improved – occasionally experienced nightmares that left him clingier than usual during the day.

"I know that. However, it does not change the fact that the boy now knows that I have a 'past' and that you had Brian. And with those brats he calls friends asking him about it, who do you think he's coming to for answers...?"

Albus shot him a sympathetic look. "Explaining Brian to him went okay," he said. "Admittedly, it was not a conversation I had planned to have with him anytime soon, but with the Prophet's article... It was easier than I expected though and he seemed to realise that it was not something I was comfortable discussing. He didn't ask many questions and the child actually hugged me and said I would be okay."

Despite himself, Severus snorted in amusement. The child would never change, he thought fondly, briefly looking toward the window, even though, where he was seated, it was impossible to see him walking about the grounds with Fawkes.

"There's a big difference between saying you once had a son, and explaining that I was once part of the most nefarious organisations in the Wizarding World..."

Albus chuckled dryly. "Do you think I told him everything? The child knows I had a son who died young. I cannot begin to explain to a twelve year old about negligence. That is a story for years down the line, and only if he asks again. Bless the child, but I rather him keep his...good image of me, and I suggest you do the same. If you must tell him, spare him the...coarse truth. Thankfully the articles didn't go into much detail. I think they had that much fear of repercussions from me...so just tell the child what you feel is appropriate. But you are right; he is growing inquisitive."

"Which he would not be minus the friends."

"If I recall correctly, near the start of second year, you were coaching him on how to make friends..."

"What an idiot I was."

"Come now, Severus. I just told the lad that he could have his friends – especially Mr. Longbottom - over sometime during the holiday."

"Your words were 'anytime they want to come', old man. Birthday parties, trips to Diagon and sleepovers were also mentioned. And don't think I did not hear you discussing with Augusta the possibility of carrying Longbottom along with us to the coast."

"Harry needs more interaction than we can give him, Severus. Were the situation different, Harry and Neville would have been childhood friends and would have grown up together anyway. They've formed a friendship now, and extended it to several others. I'm still waiting for the Hufflepuff that will make their little unity group complete. Besides, I don't think you're grumbling about having more than one child underfoot as much as the fact that you will have to share the time with Harry. Don't think I don't know how much you enjoy those little laboratory sessions or 'vocabulary' lessons with him."

"I do not deny that," Severus admitted with a soft smile.

The men sat in comfortable silence after that for a few minutes before Severus asked, "What do you think will happen to Thorne?"

"Well, his trial is set for Monday," Albus said. "It's a pretty clear cut case given the circumstances. The only thing I am uncertain about is the length of his sentence. I've reclused myself from the case for obvious reasons, but I know that St. Clair's father went ahead and pressed charges against him as well. That alone guarantees him at least one year. Added to the fact the kidnapping, assault and use of illegal cases...I hope he enjoyed his time away from the Dementors, because I see him being back in their presence for a considerable length of time."

"And me?" Severus inquired, a hint of terseness creeping into his voice.

Albus sighed before shooting a scolding look toward the potions master. "Really, and you call the students dunderheads. Severus, I've already told you that you've been cleared of any wrong doing in the matter by the Ministry. Your actions were all done in the defence of yourself and Harry, plus you kept your magic on the light side of things. I really don't know why you won't relax about the matter."

"It's hard to relax, old man, when you have a letter from the Ministry stating that your case is being reviewed."

"Nothing negative will come of it, Severus. I suspect they're just going to update your character report and other such miscellaneous things. Now, I refuse to discuss this matter again. I'm going to go start on tea. You and Harry haven't visited the greenhouses in a while, so why don't you go do that with him. I'll call you all in when I'm done."

Albus did not give him much room for response; already on his feet and halfway across the room mid-speech. Severus did not respond as he watched him leave the room. As the man himself had admitted a bit earlier, he was quite adept in skimming the surface of important issues. Somehow Severus knew that there was more to his words than he was letting on. Perhaps he truly did have a reason to be concerned.

*

Despite the old man's constant reassurances to him over the past few days, Severus could not help but swallow nervously as he stood outside of the room that would decide his fate. He had hoped never to be in this place again, the very courtroom where, all those years before, he had stood, an Azkaban-weary shell of himself, as he had listened to what he had assumed would be a life sentence if he had been lucky, or at worst, a Dementor's kiss. Standing there, building the courage to enter the room, Severus could not help but relive the emotions he had felt on that day – the fear, remorse, sadness and sense of betrayal had all coalesced within him, until, despite the profound hunger and weariness he had felt, he had put on his stony, antagonistic front that had served him well from that day onward. In retrospect, it really had not helped his case with the Wizengamont, but it was not like he had known what the old man had planned to do. Perhaps then he would have tried to appear in a more positive light to them? But then again, Albus' alternative to life in Azkaban had seemed even worse than a Kiss to him at the time.

Severus pulled himself away from those memories as the wide doors before him clicked open. It was time to face his fate. His hands twitched as he took a hesitant step forward before chiding himself, he squared his shoulders. He had endured so much, overcoming everything that life had thrown his way thus far. He was not about to let this newest hurdle detract from what he had made for himself since his first appearance in this place. If he had to go back to the filth that was Azkaban, so be it. But no one would say that he had reacted in a cowardly way.

His entrance into the room was almost anti-climatic. Before him was not the entire council he had faced the first time, staring at him with judging eyes. There was only one woman in the room – Amelia Bones – and she was not even seated in the stands as was customary for persons presiding over a case. She was at a smaller table before the area, a few papers scattered on the table before her. The doors closed automatically, and, even as he approached at her wave, he noted that there weren't any guards or the like. It was simply him and her in the room. He relaxed slightly. Perhaps the old man really had been right and he had nothing to fear from this at all.

The pleasantries passed quickly enough, and if he answered a bit more gruffly than was strictly necessary, the woman paid no heed to the matter.

She wasted no time in getting to the point of their meeting. "You may be wondering why I of all people am here to meet you, and not, as I suspect, the entire Wizengamont."

"The thought has crossed my mind," he responded dryly.

She gave the barest hint of a smile at that. "I suppose the letter was rather...strongly worded given the circumstances. However, our meeting here today is rather a formality in a sense, and had the issue of impartiality not been involved, Albus could have done in a more private setting. As the letter stated, this meeting is as a result of recent events involving yourself and one Harry Potter."

Severus nodded, his respect for the woman increasing slightly as she addressed the child by name rather than the blasted title that the media had been bandying about more than ever since the incident had come to light.

"Now, according to the original terms of your...agreement with the courts, you are due to remain in Albus Dumbledore's care until the year 1998 barring unforeseen circumstances. Chief among these includes the untimely death of your caretaker, but more importantly, your failure to comply with the tenants of your agreement."

"Of which I broke several," Severus said, as she paused for breath, slightly surprised that he managed to keep a tremor out of his voice.

"Just a few," she amended. "Chief Warlock Dumbledore has attested that until this incident, you have, to the best of your ability, complied with the stipulated agreements. I am not sure if you were aware of the fact, but you have been tested at random intervals for the usage of the dark arts."

Severus had known that being a Death Eater meant that he had had to learn ways to escape detection at a time when the ministry was trying its best (but mostly failing) to detect those participating in the dark arts. Obviously, no matter how subtle the old man had been about it, he had detected the telltale trace of magic that accompanied the scan. He also knew that those scans had stopped after his first three years living with Albus and that all of those 'secret' tests had ceased not too long after that.

The potions master tuned back in to the woman's words once she finished speaking of all the tests he had passed. That was scarcely an issue for him.

"And even in the face of such a situation," she continued, "not a single dark spell was cast from your wand although I must admit some of them fell quite close to the border line. While officially, it may be a cause for concern, in my own personal capacity, I found your actions perfectly acceptable given the nature of the magic being directed toward you. As much as I hate admitting it, purely light magic cannot combat all of the dark arts. This issue was chief among your infractions; however, as I mentioned, all circumstances considered, you cannot be faulted for any of the actions you took on the day in question. Far from it, based on the circumstances, the council found a review of your case necessary.

"Over the past few weeks, interviews have been held, not only with your keeper, but also with several persons who you have had frequent interactions with. Although I am not at liberty to divulge who those individuals are, their reports of you have been quite positive. All have noted a vast improvement in your overall behaviour and beliefs, and, you have handled your positions of authority quite well. Your caretaker's comments about you have been quite enthusiastic as well, and although he does note that he believes that you still have some progress left to be made, you are in an excellent position at the moment, which made this decision quite simple for all those involved. Effective immediately, your contract with the Wizengamont is, in its entirety, terminated."

Now that was certainly not something Severus had expected to hear.

But, given the fact that Albus was standing there when he finally left the room, he realised that he had known that this would be the result the entire time. Albus had yet to notice his presence in the room, and Severus used the time to simply observe him, gauging his own reactions to the person standing before him. It was strange, so strange, to realise that his relationship with the headmaster was essentially severed. That court issued mandate had been what had brought them together in the first place, and was the only thing that had ensured that he had not walked away from Albus and everything associated with him on more than one occasion. And now, the document in his hand was proof enough that, after this last encounter, he did not have to see the man ever again if he did not want to. The thought of that, strangely enough, rang quite hollow to him, and, as Albus looked at him, a new sense of unease filled the potions master. In his mind, he had always envisioned himself as being the one to walk away from the headmaster with nary a word. But, was it quite possible that it was the reverse that would end up being the case?

"That took you long enough, Severus," Albus said as he turned toward him. "I trust everything went well?"

The underlying emotion in his eyes was alien to him. He had seen the old man in every possible mood, and yet, the torrent of emotions swirling in his blue gaze was unnerving. He could not pinpoint one solid feeling from which to gauge Albus' intentions in these final moments, and so, reflexively, his defences rose and his words were slightly clipped when he spoke.

"Did you have any doubt that it would not turn out well?"

"Of course not, Severus. It's as I've been telling you for a while now. You had nothing to fear, but then again, you aren't known for taking my words to heart. I suppose you're wondering why I am here?"

"That and where Harry is."

"I dropped the lad off at Hogwarts with Filius. I thought it would be better to have him...away from this situation."

So this was a situation then, Severus thought, while watching as Albus reached into his robes before removing a thick envelope. He arched an eyebrow when the man held it out to him. "And this is?"

"Something that belongs to you," Albus responded.

The rather cryptic words did little to alleviate Severus' reservations; nevertheless, he opened the envelope. However, noting how many documents were inside it, he said, "will you just tell me what this is, or will you summon a tea tray while I wade through this?"

"Severus..."

"Because I am assuming you'd like to leave the Ministry sometime today, but if you rather not..."

"The first is the account information to your Gringott's account," Albus interrupted. "You'll also find your key in there. The second outlines your tenure at Hogwarts and contains three letters of recommendation, from myself, Filius and Pomona. With it, you should be able to find employment in another institution if you choose to follow that route. There are some other lesser documents in there, but the yellow parchment should be of high interest to you. That one is a deed."

"I told you to destroy Spinner's End."

"And I decided it would be more profitable to sell it. The revenue from it is in your vault. That deed though is my parting gift to you. It's for old Amos' place in Diagon Alley. I bought it from him a few years ago. I'm glad now that I did not wait to do so as I had originally planned. It seemed like the perfect spot for you. It's in the heart of the alley, you'd have easy access to the local manufacturers and the building is large enough for you to recreate your personal potion laboratory there. I also made some tentative agreements with several potion dealers for you, but you'll have to actually sign off on them yourself. This meeting with Amelia happened a lot later than expected, and, although it may have caused you some grief, I must admit that I am gladdened by that fact. I'd have had to ask you otherwise to retain your posts at Hogwarts for a few weeks longer, but now, seeing that we are already into the vacation period, I suppose that I can handle the workload myself until we can find a new potions master and decide upon a new deputy headmaster. Did I ever thank you for your efforts in that respect? You did a wonderful job, Severus.

"Now, I was hoping that you'd be willing to keep in contact with Harry in the future at the very least. Of course, you no longer have any real obligation to do so, but, Severus, you do know how much the lad looks up to you and it would crush him if you suddenly walked out of his life. This is the very thing he protested against, I know. Despite our conversation we or rather I did keep this rather important news from him. But really, there was no good time for me to tell the child that you would no longer be living with us. I'm hoping to make the transition as smooth as possible for him, but he does love you, Severus, and I'm hoping that you will take that into consideration. And well, you know you can always contact me if there is anything you need.

"These past few years, Severus...they have not been easy. But never once have I regretted the decision I made, and I hope that at least part of the experience was good for you as well. I won't press you much further...I'm certain you're looking forward to getting to the House to start your packing. You need not worry about accommodations, there are living quarters at the Apothecary and the wards to the place have already been reverted to you. You need only ask for Misty or any other elf to help you with your packing at Hogwarts if you need to, and if you desire, feel free to take one of them with you as your own. There are quite a few of them who are fond of you and will come if you ask.

"Well, I suppose that is all I have to say, Severus. I hope you take good care of yourself, and perhaps, just maybe, we will cross paths again."

And, before Severus could truly process all of the man's words, Albus had vacated the corridor. The potions master let him leave, too engrossed in trying to work out all of the details of the longwinded speech to actually care about the man himself at the moment.

"He bought me an apothecary?" Severus finally whispered disbelievingly. Out of everything the headmaster could have done for him, Severus certainly had not expected, and was having a hard time accepting, the fact that the old man had tried to make his dream a reality. The foundation had been set, the connections made; all that was left for him to do now was actually do his part to make it a success... But did Albus really believe that he could walk away from him after he had done this for him?

There was more to it than that, like the fact that Albus had tried to, but mostly failed to keep that tormented expression out of his eyes as he had spoken to him. No doubt, the headmaster had thought that he was losing a next son, the same way that, upon seeing him standing there in the corridor, Severus had wondered if he was about to lose the one man who had come nearest to be a father to him. But he hadn't, instead he had given him one of the best gifts of his life, the opportunity to fulfil his greatest ambition, along with so much more, including a child of his own to care about. Severus chuckled dryly, wondering if Albus had really been serious with that little speech of his, or if it was just one of his elaborate ruses to make him admit his feelings once again. No, he decided, the pain in his gaze had been a bit too real for it to simply be that. Albus really had thought that, despite everything that they had gone through, he would be able to just pick up and leave.

"Stupid old coot," he grumbled, tucking the documents away into his robes. "Never lets me get a word in edge wise and then leaves me no way of tracking him. Well, I have better things to do than wander around and find him. He's bound to show back up at the house...eventually."

*

It took Albus several hours to gather the courage to floo back to Cottage Manor. That time was spent wandering the halls of the Ministry aimlessly, and, after garnering several strange looks, walking the streets of Diagon Alley under his long-serving glamour. Not even the thought of Harry could draw him from his melancholy. The child would be safe with Filius, and he really was in no shape to pretend to be his normal jovial self with the lad, when all he wanted to do was wallow in self pity at the unfortunate hand fate had dealt him. Life really could be cruel and unfair. It had taken him and Severus so long to move beyond bare civility, and finally when they had reached a good place, the remainder of their forced time together had been severed. For all that they got along now, Albus knew that there was no way in hell Severus would stick around him any longer than necessary. Oh, he was certain that Severus now cared enough about them to be an (infrequent) visitor, if only for Harry, but still, after finally discovering just how good a family the three of them could be together, it was painful to even contemplate losing such a crucial part of their home. Of course he would have Harry, but without his eldest there, it would never be the same.

Eventually though, Albus knew he could not delay the inevitable. Four hours...four hours had passed since he had last set eyes on Severus. His potions master was quite efficient when the need arose. By now Severus had undoubtedly already packed and transported all of his belongings from Cottage House to his new home. There would be no-one there to greet him once he returned, only the obvious signs that Severus no longer lived there. A part of him wondered if he should fetch Harry first, so that the silence would not be as deafening, but then again, the child had yet to be told of this latest development, and he was not sure how to start explaining the sudden loss of a guardian to him. The mere thought of it left Albus feeling bone weary, and so, with a slouch to his countenance that did not match his youthful expression, he entered the floo, not even acknowledging the greeting Tom directed his way.

Stepping into his living room, Albus cancelled the glamour on himself before removing his robes, moving robotically through the room. He'd go to his office first and send a message to Filius asking him to keep Harry for a few hours more. And then he'd ask Mitsy to discretely ensure that Severus had safely arrived to his new abode. And then he would collect Harry and they would have dinner together while he explained...what was that sound? Albus froze as he heard a dull clanking sound from beyond the room before his expression fell further. Even after so many hours, Severus was still here? Did the man plan to torture him, make him actually watch him walk through the floo and out of his life? He had not expected his boy to be so cruel to him...except, he mentally amended as he heard a next sound, the noise was not coming from upstairs – it was coming from the kitchen, as was the delicious smell that was now registering to him.

Almost disbelievingly, Albus headed toward the kitchen area, firmly stamping down the hope that was trying to build up within him. After all, it could just be his imagination playing a trick on him, or Filius could have gotten tired of waiting for him, had brought his charge back here and was now cooking with Harry. Hell, it could even be Mitsy preparing their dinner here rather than simply transporting food over from the kitchen at Hogwarts. But despite these rational thoughts, Albus still found his breath hitching as he turned the corner into the kitchen, instinctively holding his breath while bracing for disappointment...only to find his hopes justifiable. For, carefully dicing something by the counter stood Severus, his expression one of full concentration. Albus did not know how long he stood there, just staring at the sight before him, afraid to blink, far less breathe - lest it turn out to be nothing but an extremely realistic mirage. The spell was broken though when Severus half-turned toward him, saying in that scathing tone that never failed to amuse him, "I'd never thought I'd live to see the day when you're speechless old man. I'd prefer some advanced notice next time so I can capture the moment. I doubt anyone save Harry will believe me."

Albus was quite certain the man's words had been laced with at least three insults directed toward him, but it mattered not. All he could focus on was the fact that, standing in front of him, in his casual home clothes, was the very man he had never expected to see within these four walls again.

"Is that what you've been doing the entire afternoon?" Severus asked, as he turned back. "Wallowing around in self pity? It's your own fault. Had you stuck around rather than giving that speech I would have saved you enough angst. But it's always a flair of drama with you, isn't it? It has been this way from the start. It's never been good enough for you to just say what you have to say and then listen. No, you always have to make things so much more complicated than they need be for all those involved. I had half the mind to really disappear you know, for a day or two anyway just to teach you a lesson, but then I decided Fawkes and Harry didn't deserve to be saddled down with you in such a state. So be grateful to them; otherwise I would have let you wallow in your fate."

"Stay out of my mind," was the only thing Albus could think to reply, even as he cringed at the fact that Severus had been able to glean so much from his mind.

"That's my line," he deadpanned, a lilt of amusement obvious in his tone. "Besides, you're broadcasting your thoughts for all to hear. It's not my fault I chose to listen."

"And that is what I usually say."

Severus actually laughed at that, setting the knife aside before turning to look at the headmaster. "It seems like we've reversed positions today," he said, folding his arms loosely across his chest. "Who'd have thought there'd be a day when you would run away from me like that? Silly old man..." he said with the barest hint of fondness to his tone. "Will you listen to me now, or would you prefer to wander around Hogwarts for a few hours first?"

"Don't be mean," he sniffed, falling with only minimal discomfort into the rapport they had been sharing for years now. The familiarity of it was reassuring, and with it, a lot of his fear dissipated. Surely Severus was not planning to leave after this. He just could not.

"I'm not leaving you old coot," the potions master told him bluntly. "Don't get me wrong now, a year ago I would have been out of the door before you finished that little speech of yours earlier, and trust me, a part of me, at that moment, seriously considered it. These past years have been far from easy...more than once I've thought of it as my own personal hell on earth and with this chance to just...get out of it so many years early, hell yes I considered it. But then I also remembered and considered what we have all been through recently, and what you've been trying to do for me all along. Things have been far from perfect, Albus, even now we still have things we must work through, but I give credit where credit is due, and for all the times that I wanted to send you to hell in a hand basket, the number of times that I now acknowledge that you helped me, equal if not surpass those bad moments. Living with you, working for you, it's no longer the turbulent task it was now – I actually enjoy it. There's no way in hell though I'm going to remain Hogwarts' Deputy and remain the sole potions master once I decide to open my Apothecary, but that's not an immediate concern.

"Besides, there is Harry to consider. It's a weird family relationship we have going on here. You consider Harry and me to be your sons. But I don't see Harry as a brother, and he's been interchanging 'uncle' and 'dad' for me this past week and 'papa' or 'grandpa' with you since the week before. There is no way in hell I am going to walk out of his life now that I am so fully involved in it. More than that, someone has to save him from a lemon drop addiction. And as for you, how can I expect you to survive on your own when you nearly fell apart at the thought of me leaving? You need me as much as Harry and I need you, if only to give you a kick whenever you're falling to the wayside. I'm not going to walk away from you, no matter how much you annoy me, because, and I will hex you if you repeat this, we're family, old man, and families – real families – take care of their own. It's what you've been trying to do with me for years, and now with Harry, and it's time that the favour's returned. Someone needs to protect you from yourself, and I think I'm just right for the job.

"I'm done talking, Albus, and don't you ever expect me to be so...open again. It's quite exhausting. So it would please me very much if you get that sentimental gleam out of your mind and...you're going to want a hug, aren't you? " he finished exasperatedly, as he saw the affectionate look on the old man's face.

Albus looked like a child in a sweet shop who had been given free licence to purchase any and everything. And, for all that Severus strove to keep an aloft, if not slightly annoyed expression on his face, a smile quirked at the corners of his mouth as Albus approached him. "Speak of this and I will hex you," he warned, even as he suffered through the man wrapping his arms tightly about him in a hug. And if he happened to return it, it was not out of a mutual need for comfort. It was simply because he knew that the old man would not relent without the affection returned.

"Are you...hugging?" A disbelieving voice said from the doorway, causing the two men to quickly pull apart.

Severus was the first to answer, his voice slightly gruffer than normal as he tried to hide his embarrassment. "I believe I told you once child that I do not hug people."

"I know," he responded, still eyeing him curiously, as was the phoenix cupped in his hands, "but that doesn't change my question."

"Albus is being particularly sentimental and since I'm not in the mood to hex him, I figured that submitting to this would be a safer option."

"Why are you here, Harry?" Albus asked next, effectively distracting the twelve year old from further questions.

"And more importantly, why are you not taking that nap I sent you up to have?"

"I woke up," he said to the potions master before turning to Albus. "Uncle Severus picked me up a few hours ago. I wanted to help him with dinner but he wouldn't let me...although it doesn't seem like you've gone very far."

"I took a nap as well," Severus replied, although the glibness in his tone made it clear enough that he was telling a half-truth. Albus did not doubt that his eldest had spent the majority of the time trying to track him down before eventually deciding that he would come back here.

"So does that mean I get to help cook now Grandpa Albus?"

"Actually," Albus interrupted. "I was thinking that we could go out for dinner tonight. Rosmerta will love to have us there, and we have many things to celebrate."

"The man going to jail?"

"Well that as well," Albus agreed, "although there is also the fact that you got mostly Os this term, and the fact that Severus has finally discovered something called humour and let's not forget the fact that he's finally admitted that he lo-"

"You do realise, old man," Severus cut in, a deadly gleam in his gaze, "that I can freely hex you now...without the risk of any consequence? I suggest you keep that in mind before you talk."

"Always with the threats. Harry, this summer you have to teach Severus about being as sweet and endearing as you. It's integral now more than ever. I mean, it's not just us who have to put up with you. How on earth do you expect to woo Astoria if you perpetually act dour and grumpy. Harry needs a woman in his life, and while I'd love to assist I'm a bit past my prime and...Severus!" he ended with a yell, barely dodging the bright yellow light the potions master shot toward him.

Harry wisely backed out of the kitchen as he caught sight of the gleam in the potions master's eyes. He was not entirely certain what had changed. He was quite accustomed to threats flying between the two, but now, watching the headmaster shriek and actually run away from the younger wizard, Harry knew that his guardian was in for a few uncomfortable minutes or however long it took for those elephant ears he now sprouted to disappear...and Harry was not quite certain that that particular shade of blue that the headmaster now sported blended properly with the sickly green colour that Professor Snape had now turned his beard. Nevertheless, as the tide slowly turned, with his guardian deciding to return the favour, Harry could only transfer Fawkes to one hand, while clutching his middle with the other as he laughed uproariously at the sight before him.

His laughter was enough to distract the men from each other, and, after sharing a mischievous look, Harry could only squeal between bales of laughter as the men headed toward him, causing him to shriek and laugh even as he ran away from them as fast as possible, Fawkes chirping encouragement the entire way. Harry had never expected his life to change in this way when his Hogwarts letter had arrived nearly two years ago. He had never expected to find a life outside of his near-servitude, a life that had introduced him to joy and sorrow, laughter and tears, the magical and the mundane, but most importantly, friendship, love and family. All of these things had moulded him, shaped him into the not-quite- as- shy, sometimes courageous but always caring individual he was today. And it would continue to shape him and those closest to him as they navigated through the ups and downs of life, trying to find a place in an ever changing world that was defined by their own desires and not the ones of other people. It would not be an easy task, but, with the men now rough-housing with him by his side, Harry would be fine – they would all be, because, no matter what came their way in the times to come, they would always have each other to lean and rely on.


End file.
